The Windfell Family Secrets

by Diane Allen

  ‘You seem very knowledgeable about how it works, Ruby. I must confess I feel guilty because I’ve turned down Mr Beresford’s offer of a guided tour of the kiln ever since it was built, over ten years ago now. It’s something that I’m just not interested in, and it has little consequence in my life. But his wife is a good customer of Miss Isabelle, so I feel I should perhaps not ignore his invitation any longer. Answering your question regarding the Christmas Ball, we won’t be having one this year, I’m afraid. We have Danny’s wedding next spring and, with Mr Atkinson’s father dying in the autumn, I didn’t think it quite correct to be celebrating the season as much as we usually do.’ Charlotte sipped her cup of tea that Ruby had placed in front of her and looked around the kitchen, while pondering what to have for Christmas dinner.

  ‘It’s a shame we won’t be hosting the ball, ma’am, as it’s part of Christmas here now and all your staff look forward to it. But we will understand, what with Mr Atkinson senior dying and a big wedding to pay for.’ Ruby regretted saying her last few words as soon as she had spoken them. It was common knowledge that the mill at Ferndale was not as profitable as it had been a few years ago, after picking itself up following the American civil war, but there was no need for her mistress to know that everyone was talking about the slump in orders that was taking place at the mill.

  ‘Goose, I think, Ruby – we will have goose. I never feel guilty about eating goose, as they are nasty creatures. I always remember one we had when I was a child. It used to chase me around the farmyard. I was petrified of it.’ Charlotte smiled at Ruby and remembered the times she hid behind Lucy Cranston’s skirts from the fiercest creature in the farmyard. Suddenly she remembered she hadn’t been to see Mrs Batty, her faithful cook from Windfell, for a while. There seemed to be no time for pleasant things in life at the moment, especially with Archie being away. ‘How’s Mrs Batty? I must go down and see her over Christmas and take her a basket full of gifts. She will miss us this Christmas.’

  ‘She’s doing well, ma’am. Lily, Mazy and I take turns in going down to see her once a week, and I don’t think she’s ever been as happy. Gertie Potts and Mrs Batty keep an eye on the comings and goings at the lock’s cottages, so if there is ever anything you need to know about what goes on there, just ask them two.’ Ruby sipped her tea and watched as Charlotte thought about Mrs Batty and Gertie Potts sharing gossip together.

  ‘Mrs Potts must be a good age now.’ Charlotte thought back to the old woman who had been one of her longest-serving residents.

  ‘Yes, I believe she must be in her late eighties, but you wouldn’t know it – she’s still spritely.’ Ruby smiled and cleared away her teacup.

  ‘I hope I am spritely when I’m her age, Ruby.’ Charlotte finished the last drop of tea and rose from the table.

  ‘Thank you, ma’am. If you can let me know how many we will be expecting for Christmas as soon as you can, both Mazy and I would appreciate it. We will both have a lot to do, and then we will have to look at how many will be attending the wedding and what menu you will be wanting. Easter will soon follow Christmas; time usually flies, once the cold months of January and February have done their worst.’ Ruby was relieved really that there wasn’t to be a ball, for she wouldn’t have had time, between making wedding cakes, Christmas cakes and all the frills of Christmas.

  ‘I will, Ruby. And if you can put me a basket of baking and cooked meats together, I’ll take them down to Mrs Batty towards the end of next week. I’ll surprise her.’ Charlotte walked up the stairs and out of the kitchen. She’d enjoyed her cup of tea with Ruby, it made a welcome change from keeping her own company. Ten days without Archie had seemed like a lifetime, and she was even missing Danny. It was time they both returned home.

  Thomson held the front door of the manor open, as a carriage sent by Tom Beresford pulled up for Charlotte and she climbed hesitantly in. She really didn’t want to waste her day looking around a lime kiln, with a man she thought quite obnoxious, if she was truthful. She sat back in the seat and looked out of the window at the frozen, sparkling white countryside passing by. She saw the familiar sight of Ferndale Mill and couldn’t help but worry what was taking place there, as she squandered her day with Beresford. The mill’s chimney was puffing out thick smoke and it was hanging around the mill in the crisp winter’s air. With the River Ribble in full flood, the slowly melting snow made the river swell over its banks. Looking down on her empire, Charlotte realized how tired she was; the running of the mill had sapped all her energy for the last twenty years, and even though she was no longer so involved, she ultimately had responsibility for the running of it and the welfare of all its workers. She was tired; tired of being a strong woman, whom everyone tried to please and who was even afeared, in some cases. How she would like to be a genteel lady, sitting sipping tea with her friends and hopefully, in the future, having time for her grandchildren, if God was willing.

  The carriage jolted suddenly, as the horses shied from the noise of a steam train passing over the small bridge they had turned under, to enter the Craven Lime Company’s yard. The coachman shouted down his apologies into the carriage, bringing Charlotte back out of her thoughts as they pulled up into the yard.

  ‘Charlotte, how wonderful you could join us. Please take my hand and let me escort you to my office. I have some tea and biscuits waiting, and then I thought I would show you around the kiln before my driver takes you home.’ Tom Beresford held his hand out and guided Charlotte down from the carriage. ‘I’m sorry the yard is a little dirty underfoot; no matter how hard we try, we cannot keep it clean, so please mind your skirts.’

  Charlotte smiled at Tom as she took his hand and then walked carefully across the yard. ‘I didn’t realize Craven Lime was such a big concern, Mr Beresford.’ She looked around her: the yard was a network of rail sidings, water tanks, engine sheds and stables, all surrounding and leading to the kiln itself. A huge kiln made of fireproof bricks dominated the yard, built under the hillside with twenty-two separate entrances to chambers within it and one hollow chamber, where a large chimney drew up the smoke that hung around the yard like a low grey cloud. Charlotte looked around at the wagons used to hold the coal, and at the crushed limestone waiting to be placed in the kiln by the men who were manually filling each individual chamber. She watched as the men, stripped to their waists even though it was midwinter, pushed the carts into each individual doorway, entering the soon-to-be blazing-hot kiln. The smell of burning lime and the noise of stone being crushed filled the air. Charlotte coughed as the lime-filled smoke hit the back of her throat.

  ‘Come, let us go into my office, away from this putrid smoke.’ Tom opened his office door and offered Charlotte a seat next to the window. ‘I’m glad you have paid me this visit, as I wanted you to see how your support for building the Settle-to-Carlisle railway benefited my business as well as yours. If the line hadn’t have been opened, it might have been a little different, for we would still have been transporting our lime by horse and cart. As it is, now we can load the railway wagons on the sidings and get them on their way, and sometimes with our customers by the following day.’

  ‘Yes, we have benefited from the line as well – both by getting our supplies from the docks and dispatching to our customers more quickly – but perhaps not in the same way as you.’ Charlotte watched as the yard came alive with men, some on top of the kiln, feeding coal down into whichever of the individual chambers was the next one to be lighted.

  ‘We don’t have that problem of receiving raw materials, as we have them on our own doorstep in the nearby quarry. The tubs of stone run by gravity, from the quarry to the weighbridge over there; and then, as you can see, once it is weighed, the ponies pull the stone around to the individual kiln that we are to fire next.’ Tom squatted next to Charlotte, as he pointed out various stages of the limestone process and smiled at her after each sentence, making her feel uneasy as he touched her shoulder and breathed heavily next to her ear. He turned, just inches
away from her lips, as he quickly rose to his feet once the maid came in with the tea and biscuits. ‘We’ve a tight little firm here, and I don’t stand for any nonsense. Profit, at the end of the day, is what we are about. Of course my position on the town council helps. Nobody dares to complain, else it will be the worse for them.’ Tom sat on the edge of his desk and watched as Charlotte took in the scene of the busy working yard.

  ‘Do you ever give the men and the ponies a rest period? It seems such a hard manual job to be doing.’ Charlotte thanked the maid who passed her the cup of tea and watched some of the men; she noticed a few who were quite elderly struggling with the wagons of coal and stone.

  ‘If they want their pay, they work the hours. Surely you work the same at the mill? Workers will only take advantage of you, if they think you are soft.’ Tom laughed a shallow laugh, before picking up his teacup and taking a sip.

  Charlotte looked out of the window and watched as a pony was thrashed across its back when it struggled with a load that it could not manage to pull. She decided not to ask to see any more at the yard. ‘I believe people should be treated and paid fairly, as I hope we do at the mill, and I have tried to improve the conditions we have there.’ She smiled at her host, who was reminding her by each second of her late husband, Joseph. Tom made her skin creep, with his fondness for getting too close to her and his disrespect for human life – or any life at all, if the treatment of the pony outside was common practice.

  ‘Then they’ll turn around and bite your hand eventually. Believe me, you should let them know who’s boss, Charlotte, else you’ll live to regret it,’ Tom said quite sharply.

  ‘I think, on that subject, we will agree to differ, Mr Beresford. Now, is your wife joining us tonight? I would dearly love to meet her; she is supporting my girls so well, with her purchase of their dresses.’ Charlotte wasn’t going to listen to Tom’s advice. He was a hard man, a man with no morals, and she knew his sort.

  ‘Please, it’s “Tom”; after all, I’d like to think we are friends. Yes, she told me to tell you that she is looking forward to this evening. She is impressed with your daughter’s designs. I can’t say I’m impressed with her spending so much money on them, but whatever makes her happy. Because I certainly don’t make that much money, at the moment.’ Tom’s face clouded over.

  Charlotte sipped her tea and watched and listened to the man who reminded her, with every word he spoke, of her ex-husband. She’d make an excuse and make good her escape. ‘Well, it will be wonderful to meet your wife. I hope you don’t mind, Tom, but I’ve just remembered I’ve got an urgent matter to see to at Ferndale. Would you think it terribly rude of me if I take my leave, until this evening?’ Charlotte had heard enough from the ignorant man, who seemed to hold no one in high esteem, and she pitied his poor wife for being in such a loveless marriage.

  ‘No, not at all. As you say, we are seeing each other tonight. I’d hoped to show you around the yard, but I’m sure there will be future opportunities.’ Tom opened his office door and shouted for his coachman to bring the coach and horse to the doorway.

  ‘Until tonight. I’ll be counting the minutes.’ Tom gave Charlotte his hand and helped her up into the carriage.

  ‘Until tonight.’ Charlotte sat back in the darkness of the carriage and felt guilty about her lie, but she couldn’t have stayed another minute looking out of the window or at Tom. Thank heavens his wife would be with him this evening. Perhaps she would curtail his ways; she certainly hoped so.

  Charlotte looked across the table at her guest and sipped her soup slowly, aware that Tom Beresford was watching her every movement. She patted her lips with her napkin and smiled across at him. ‘I’m sorry to hear your wife is unwell. I do hope that she recovers quickly. These stomach upsets can be most discomforting, so it’s as well she stayed at home.’

  ‘Yes, and that has left us two having dinner together, with your husband stuck up at Crummock. Just the way I like it, because I would like to get to know you better, Charlotte. I hope that you’ll forgive me my honesty.’ Tom smiled a rat-like grin across at his prey, making Charlotte’s stomach churn.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Beresford, but I feel that you have got the wrong end of the stick.’ She pushed her napkin down onto her knee, accidentally making it fall to the ground.

  ‘Come, Charlotte, you know it’s “Tom”. And you know exactly how I feel about you, else you wouldn’t have visited the yard today – after all, it’s no place for a woman. Just like the mill at Ferndale is no place of work for you, for it’s a man’s world that you are in.’ He pushed his chair back and made his way to where Charlotte sat, bending down on one knee and grabbing her hand, before kissing it.

  ‘Mr Beresford, you forget yourself, please resist. I’m a married woman and have no intention to appeal to you in that way. Now, kindly stand up and continue your dinner, else I will have to ask you to leave.’ Charlotte pulled her hand away from her would-be suitor and stared at him.

  Both heads turned as they heard the dining-room door open. Tom Beresford got quickly to his feet as soon as he realized someone was about to enter the room.

  ‘Hey up – while the cat’s away, the rats will play!’ Archie entered the room and sat down in his chair at the head of the table. ‘What do you think you are doing, having dinner with my wife, Beresford? Are you trying to fill my shoes?’ Archie laughed, joking as he watched Tom Beresford pick up Charlotte’s napkin and give her it back to her.

  ‘Your wife was gracious enough to ask my wife and me for dinner this evening. Unfortunately, Flora wasn’t well enough to join us. So yes, I’ve been greedy and had her all to myself.’ Tom covered his tracks quickly.

  ‘Archie, it’s lovely to have you back home.’ Charlotte got up from her chair, blushing as she hugged her husband and squeezed him tightly.

  ‘By the left, I should leave home for a day or two more often, if that’s the welcome I get.’ Archie squeezed Charlotte in return, as she kissed his cheeks and whispered, ‘I missed you.’

  Tom looked down at his empty soup bowl, embarrassed by the couple’s embrace and knowing that his plan of wooing Charlotte had not worked. ‘I think I’d better return home now. I’m rather concerned that my wife might need me, for she did look ill. Besides, I’m sure you’ve news to share between you.’

  ‘But you’ve not finished your dinner, man!’ Archie sat back in his chair and beamed at Charlotte as she went to sit in her chair.

  ‘There will another time, I’m sure. Thank you, Charlotte, for your invite this evening, and I hope you enjoyed your visit to the yard today.’ Tom rose from his chair and made his way to the open doorway.

  Charlotte followed him out into the hallway, summoning Thomson to get Tom’s cloak, before whispering to him, ‘I value your wife as a customer of my daughter, so I will not mention your behaviour to my husband or her. But believe me, you will not be welcome again in my home. And if you think you can threaten me in any way, through your position on the town council, think again. I am a woman of influence and strength, and don’t you ever forget that. Thomson will see you out.’

  Charlotte left Tom standing in the hallway as she walked back into the dining room, closing the doors behind her.

  ‘I take it Beresford has been the lecher that he’s known to be. Good job I came home when I did.’ Archie laughed at Charlotte’s fuming face.

  ‘That man is a disgrace. His poor wife!’

  ‘Come here, Mrs Atkinson. Come and show me just how much you’ve missed me.’ Archie grabbed Charlotte by the waist and kissed her hard on the lips. ‘No competition, Beresford, this woman will always be mine, and me hers, as long as we both have breath in our bodies.’

  15

  Charlotte glanced at the local paper with John Sidgwick’s image on the front page, looking decidedly riled and disgruntled. She shook her head as she read the report on the financial ruin of Sidgwick and the foreclosure of High Mill. Three hundred people to be made out of work because of his mismanagement. It
would hit Skipton hard, unless a successor could be found to give the mill a new life. The week before Christmas as well, just the time of year when people relied on every penny.

  ‘Here you are, ma’am, a basket full of things I know Mrs Batty likes. And I’ve put some slices of ham and a good roll of cooked brisket in there for her, as you suggested. It’ll keep her fed for a week or two, never mind over Christmas.’ Ruby handed over the brim-full basket to Charlotte and stood back to await her response.

  ‘Thank you, Ruby. At least I take responsibility for my workers, both young and old. This man doesn’t give a damn about anybody but himself.’ Charlotte folded the paper and placed it down on the table.

  ‘I take it you mean John Sidgwick of High Mill. He’s a wicked man. His poor workers, it’s them I feel sorry for – they’ll have empty bellies for sure this Christmas.’ Ruby sighed.

  ‘What goes around comes around, and he’s only himself to blame. He should show respect for his fellow men. I have no sympathy for him, but as for the doffers, spinners and weavers who will have nothing, my heart bleeds. He’ll be alright; he’ll have siphoned enough off for himself – believe me, he’ll have some funds somewhere. It’s just his pride that will be hurt.’ Charlotte picked up the basket from her side and walked into the hallway with Ruby. ‘I’ll be back for lunch, or I hope to be, if Mrs Batty doesn’t keep me talking too long – you know what she’s like. And if Gertie Potts is there, well, I’ll be hard pressed to get a word in edgeways.’ Charlotte smiled and waited as Thomson handed her cape to her. ‘Once Mr Atkinson and Danny return with the Christmas tree, we will decorate the hall and the parlour, although perhaps we should wait for Miss Isabelle, else she will only be disappointed, like a petulant child. Can you tell Mr Atkinson just to leave the tree outside the back door, Thomson. Knowing him, half the needles will have dropped off before the tree has even been placed in the parlour, and he’s no patience when it comes to putting up the tree, but he would insist that he went for it instead of Jethro. I dread to think what Mr Atkinson will be like when we are blessed with grandchildren. He will revert to his own childhood, I’m sure.’