The Windfell Family Secrets

by Diane Allen

  ‘Please call me Danny. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you, or Moses. A cup of tea would be most welcome. I lost my mother too when I was a baby, and my father’s wife is my stepmother, although she treats me like her own and I love her dearly. Your father never married again, I take it?’ Danny followed the straight-talking beauty into the low-set kitchen, where he blinked to adjust his eyes to the darkness as he entered from the bright sunshine outside. He looked around the kitchen, at the ancient oak beams with summer herbs drying from them and at the oak dresser adorned with willow-pattern porcelain. The kitchen was homely, with a fire in the hearth on which Amy placed the kettle, before reaching for some of the blue-and-white china, which she placed on the table, urging him to take a seat.

  ‘No, my father never remarried. There’s just me and him here, and a farm lad that comes two days a week to help out. We are quite content by ourselves and can manage at the moment, although I do find that my father is struggling sometimes with the amount of work, as he’s not getting any younger. Have you had anything to eat? I was just going to have some cheese and bread, perhaps you would like to join me?’ Amy hesitated as she placed two plates on the table and pulled open a drawer to take two knives out of it.

  ‘That would be grand – it seems to have been an age since my breakfast this morning.’ If she had told him to walk on red-hot coals, Danny would have agreed, for she’d captivated him so much. He laughed and joked with her as they discussed local farmers, their lives and their love of the countryside, as if they had been friends forever. Amy was so easy to talk to, and all thoughts of Harriet and her love for him disappeared as Danny became entranced by Amy’s smile, her openness and her infectious laugh. It wasn’t until the grandfather clock in the corner of the kitchen struck three that Danny realized he had not done the job he had been sent to do. ‘Aye, heavens, Amy, I’ve never even looked at Moses yet, or asked if your father will agree to lend him to us this October.’

  ‘It’s not my father you’ve to ask over Moses; it’s me. If you like the look of him and still want to borrow him, there will be just one condition.’ Amy hesitated.

  ‘What’s that then? We are willing to pay a fair price for his loan. After all, he should father some good lambs.’ Danny waited.

  ‘It’s nothing to do with Moses. I’d just like you to come back and visit me. I’ve enjoyed your company so much, and I know you’ll look after him fine; he’ll love it up at Crummock.’ Amy waited. This was a new lad in her life, one who had made her laugh. He’d never mentioned having a girl in his life, and if there was, it didn’t matter. All was fair in love and war.

  ‘If that’s what you call a condition, then I’m happy to fulfil your wishes. Now, we had better go and look at the big man.’ Danny pushed back his chair and smiled at Amy.

  ‘Yes, he’s in the paddock behind the house. I’ll take you there.’ Amy reached for Danny’s hand, touching it gently before going to the kitchen door and out into the sunshine, then leading him to the ram, which was grazing contentedly in the daisy-filled paddock behind the farmhouse.

  ‘By, he’s a fair beast. He’ll father some good lambs for us next spring.’ Danny climbed over the gate and cornered the prize ram next to the gate that Amy stood behind.

  ‘There’s no need to be rough with him, he’s used to being handled.’ She stood on the bars of the gate and watched as Danny checked his teeth, feet and testicles, finally running his hand along the ram’s back before letting the poor animal loose.

  ‘Aye, he’ll do. He’s the fittest beast I’ve seen for a long time, and his owner’s not too bad, either.’ Danny cheekily passed Amy a daisy that he’d picked out of the paddock and grinned.

  ‘Why, thank you, Mr Atkinson. I could say the same thing about you. My father, I am sure, will come to an agreement with your father regarding payment. And I hope you will keep your part of the bargain, or Moses and I will never forgive you.’ Amy smelled the daisy and twirled it in her fingers as she pretended to be coy with her visitor.

  ‘You just try to keep me away, Amy Brown. Now I know what you have here, I’ll never be away.’ Danny stroked her cheek, not daring a kiss quite yet. But there would be a time when he would.

  ‘What’s up, lad? You look as if you’ve lost a sixpence and found a penny. Aren’t you glad your mother’s sorted out your Harriet and our Isabelle with a shop?’ Archie looked at his son, who had appeared crestfallen since Charlotte and Isabelle had been full of the new venture at dinner time.

  ‘I just wish she’d asked me. Now I’m committed to Harriet, else my mother will never forgive me.’ Danny sighed, remembering the auburn-haired Amy he’d met earlier in the day.

  ‘Well, you’ve got yourself to blame there. You were full of Harriet the other day: going to leave house and home, if we weren’t right with her. Your mother’s only trying to help and get her out of Dora Bloomenber’s grips. Besides, I think the lass thinks she’s going to marry you, like we all did – you were that infatuated with her at Isabelle’s birthday. We couldn’t do right for doing wrong, and still can’t seemingly, by the look on that face. You haven’t been leading her on, and I hope you haven’t asked to marry her if you don’t mean it?’ Archie leaned over the limestone wall that ran behind the manor’s kitchen garden and waited for Danny to reply. Something was bothering his lad, and he’d a good idea what. ‘How did you go on at Ragged Hall – did you see old Brown about borrowing his tup?’

  ‘No, he wasn’t in, it was his lass that I talked to.’ Danny couldn’t look at his father, for he knew him too well; he’d know what he was thinking.

  ‘That’d be Amy, she’s a good-looking lass. Bill Brown worships her, but he wouldn’t do if he knew how wild she is; she’s broken many a lad’s heart, with her easy ways. Tha wants nowt looking at that ’un, lad, if that’s what you are thinking.’ Archie watched his son’s cheeks fill with colour. He was right: Amy had turned Danny’s head; how he wished he’d not sent him on business there. ‘She loves and leaves ’em, lad; just a tease, she must have gone with every lad over at Rathmell. She’s going to be a lonely old maid one day, for no decent man would touch her, if he had sense.’

  ‘She seemed alright. She offered me my dinner and was pleasant enough.’ Danny stuck up for Amy. How did his father know anything?

  ‘Aye, well, you are a bit like her tup: got an eye for the best ewe in the field. But this beauty’s not everything she seems. If you’ve whispered and promised Harriet the earth, you stick by it. She loves you – any fool can see that. That ’un at Ragged Hall will only look after herself, so get a ring on your lass’s finger and get her wed. Your mother’s set her up in business and we’ll find you somewhere to live. It’s not like we are short of a bob or two.’

  Danny fell silent, then spat a mouthful of saliva out over the wall into the pastureland and waited for his father to walk away.

  ‘You wed Harriet and stop your gallivanting. You are twenty-three next month – time you settled down. I was only nineteen when I married your mother, and a father by the time I was twenty. That stopped me from roving.’ Archie stood and watched as Danny turned to face him.

  ‘Aye, and you regretted every day you were married to my mother, and couldn’t wait to get back into my stepmother’s arms. So don’t you preach to me.’ Danny spat the words out and stared at his father.

  ‘Watch your words, young man. And you are wrong there, lad. I loved your mother, and my Rosie will always be with me. I’ll never ever forget her; she was more precious to me than life itself, and that nobody can deny. But Charlotte’s the woman I love now, and always will until the day I die. She’s a good woman: faithful and true, just like your Harriet. So don’t let a bit of flighty stuff come between you both. You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep, lad. And I know that happen Charlotte’s forced you into a corner, by setting Harriet up in business, but she thought you loved her, and she was just protecting us all.’ Archie saw the anger in his son’s eyes and was hurt; he’d never had a bad wor
d before with his Danny. Women, they ruled your life with their ways and trickery, but you couldn’t live without them, and Danny still had a lot to learn. ‘Think on, lad. Use your head and don’t let Harriet down, she’s a good lass.’

  Danny lay back in the fresh-smelling hay. The summer’s sun shone down in a sharp shaft of warmth through the forking hole of the barn at Ragged Hall. He turned and leaned on his elbow and smiled as he looked on in awe at the sleeping Amy. She was beautiful and wild, with no airs and graces like other girls. He looked at her skirts, still up above her knees from their hour of pleasure, which had left them both happy and content. Too content, he thought; he would have to be making tracks home, else his father would be questioning his whereabouts. He picked up a piece of sweet-smelling hay and trickled it down Amy’s nose as she snoozed, grinning as she twitched her nose in annoyance. A more beautiful nose he had never seen, he thought, as he repeated his torment.

  She opened one of her eyes and then stretched and yawned.

  ‘Stop teasing me, Danny Atkinson, else it will be the worse for you.’ Amy put her hands behind her head, then smiled at her lover.

  ‘I’m going to have to go, Amy, they’ll be wondering where I’ve got to.’ Danny knelt down in the hay and pulled up his braces, tucking his shirt into his trousers as he looked down on his love.

  ‘Don’t go, Danny, stay here with me. My father won’t be back until supper time, as he’s walling up in the top pasture.’ She ran her hand over Danny’s stomach and urged him down upon her.

  ‘No, I’ll have to go, Amy. We shouldn’t have done what we’ve done, as it is.’ Danny kissed her and so wanted to stay in her arms until the sun went down. ‘I’ll be back, I don’t know when – it’ll be whenever I can sneak away.’ He stood up and looked down upon the lass he truly loved, the one who was sheer temptation, nearly losing his balance on the unevenness of the hay stack.

  ‘Well, you know where I’m at, my lover. Don’t be too long.’ Amy closed her eyes and curled up in the sun’s rays and the warmth of the hay.

  ‘I won’t. You take care of yourself, Amy.’

  Danny climbed down out of the hay and untethered his horse from outside the barn. How he wished he could stay, but he was as good as married, and his father would disown him if he so much as got an inkling that he’d lain with Amy Brown that afternoon. There would be other days for that, he was sure, but now he had to get home.

  6

  John Sidgwick looked around at his crumbling empire and sighed. High Mill, everyone knew, was on the edge of bankruptcy and there was nothing he could do. The death of his wife had not helped, for her side of the family had withdrawn all support, and now he was counting on old friends and favours, of which he had few. He ran his hand through his thin greying hair and looked out of the office window down onto the busy Skipton street. The cobbled road was busy with shoppers and market traders, and he could just hear the church clock at the top of the high street chime twelve, over the noise of the busy weaving machines on the floors below. That, and his stomach rumbling, reminded him that he had not eaten since early that morning.

  He placed his fingers in his waistcoat pocket and felt for the few pence that he allowed himself for his dinner. Damn it, there was not enough there to buy a pie, let alone a gill from the Red Lion, his usual dinner-time tipple. He went and opened the petty-cash box from his desk drawer and took out the last guinea from the almost empty container and pushed it into his breeches pocket, thinking: what the hell, he might be dead tomorrow. Making his way downstairs, past the noise of the weaving machines, he opened the side door into the street, bursting out of it like a bullet from a gun, to escape the hell he had made for himself.

  ‘I’m so sorry – I didn’t see you there,’ John blustered, as he nearly knocked over one of the prettiest young women he had ever set eyes on in his life.

  ‘No problem, sir. I was unaware there was a door there. I should have seen it and realized it might be used, especially at this time of day.’ Isabelle blushed as she regained her composure. ‘At dinner time everyone is in a rush to get as much done as possible in the time allowed. I should know, as my mother’s mill is just the same.’

  ‘Your mother’s mill, my dear? Who is your mother?’ John looked at the blushing young thing, who was obviously linked with either the cotton or the woollen industry.

  ‘Yes, my mother is Charlotte Atkinson. She owns Ferndale Mill at Langcliffe. Perhaps you have heard of it, and of her?’ Isabelle gazed at the well-dressed gent, who was ageing, but obviously had good manners.

  ‘Indeed I have, and I used to know your mother well. Is she in good health? It is some time since I have seen her.’ John cast his mind back to his long-dead friend and his pretty wife. She had always been too much for Joseph Dawson to control, a feisty filly; and he had proved himself right when she had fought tooth and nail to keep Ferndale Mill after her husband’s demise. He still kept in touch with Joseph’s sister, Dora, and she hated her ex-sister-in-law, with all her charm and brains.

  ‘She’s very well, thank you, sir. I will tell her I’ve had the privilege of meeting you. May I ask your name, sir?’ Isabelle waited for his reply.

  ‘I tell you what: I was just going for a spot of dinner. Why don’t you join me at the Red Lion? We could catch up on old times. You can tell me how well Ferndale is doing, and make an old man happy by having a young woman on his arm. As for my name, I’m John Sidgwick, and I used to know both your parents well. I own High Mill.’ He held out his arm for Isabelle to join him. ‘Come on now: I don’t bite, and I’m sure your father would have liked us to become acquainted. We were very close, you know?’

  ‘I don’t know. And I shouldn’t really, as we have had no formal introduction. Although I am catching the coach and horses back to Settle at the Red Lion.’ Isabelle hesitated, curiosity getting the better of her. Perhaps this John Sidgwick could tell her something about her father – something that nobody else had told her.

  ‘Dinner is on me, and I can assure you my attentions are quite honourable. I’d just appreciate a pretty face to look at, as I’ve just lost my wife, and my sons are at university. We don’t even have to tell your mother, if that’s what is worrying you.’ John smiled at the answer to all his prayers. He couldn’t believe his luck, in nearly falling over Dawson’s only heir: she would be worth a fortune one day.

  ‘Alright, sir, I’ve just time for some dinner. My name is Isabelle, if you didn’t know. I was named after my grandmother.’ She linked her arm through his.

  ‘Isabelle, with a voice as clear as a bell. I can see, my dear Isabelle, that we could make this a regular thing. It would make an old man very happy.’ John smiled at his conquest. Fate had made him bump into her, and he’d no intention of letting Miss Isabelle Atkinson slip through his fingers.

  ‘That would be very agreeable, sir.’ She looked up at the onetime handsome man. What harm could there be, in dining with a fellow mill owner? Her mother would be proud of her. She strolled down the high street of Skipton, glowing with pride as John showered her with compliments. Perhaps an older man would be the answer to her prayers, for young men were so shallow. John Sidgwick was a man whose company she enjoyed more with every step they took. But perhaps he was right; she’d not tell her mother. If John had been a friend of her father, there had been enough upset with the arrival of Harriet in the family and the raising of Dora’s ghost.

  After their meal, John sat back and patted his mouth with his napkin and watched the pretty little thing trying delicately to finish her plate of cooked ham and pickle. The venue was a bit rough, for one so refined, but it had been the first place that had come into his head when she announced her parentage. Besides, it was all his purse allowed. He looked around the smoke-filled coaching inn with its tobacco-stained walls and low oak beams from which tankards hung, and thought that he could have done so much better, if he meant to impress his guest.

  ‘So, your mother’s mill is doing well?’ He watched as Isabelle finished h
er mouthful before speaking.

  ‘Yes, very well, thank you. My mother spends most of her time there – she loves Ferndale.’ Isabelle looked across at her dinner companion and imagined him when he was a younger man.

  ‘Aye, your father loved the place as well; built it up from nothing, and bought the grand house you live in. He was a man of vision. If it hadn’t been for the Yankees and their war, he would have been alright.’ John took a long sip from his glass of wine and smiled across at his young guest.

  ‘We don’t talk about him at home. My mother never mentions his name, although everyone tells me I have his looks.’ Isabelle looked down at her plate and pushed it away, having had enough of the roughly carved ham and of the boisterous company that surrounded her.

  ‘That you do, lass. He was a handsome man, your father, a real charmer. It was unfortunate he ended up as he did.’ John didn’t know how much Isabelle knew about her father’s dark side and decided not to say any more about him. ‘It’s getting a bit boisterous in here, let us go outside and wait for your coach. I’m afraid this was not the best of venues to take a young lady to. I never thought, at the time. Next time we will go to the little tea-room across the way.’ He drew his chair back and offered Isabelle his arm, pushing back a man who had started to sing as he waved his gill about.