John was mortified to have offended him. ‘I’m sorry,’ he apologised, ‘only I thought you might need a friend.’
Archie thanked him again, but, ‘It’s Emily that needs you now,’ he said kindly.
John’s face lit up. ‘Oh Archie! I can’t wait till I see her again!’
‘Well, o’ course you can’t. What! She’s all you’ve talked about these past two years. “Emily this” … “Emily that”. Day and night, until I feel I know her as well as you do.’
Something was still worrying John. ‘Why didn’t she reply to my letters, Archie?’ he burst out. ‘I wrote all those letters and every time we got to a port, I took them to be posted home. But I never got any reply.’
The old man knew this had been on John’s mind for some time, and yet again, he tried to explain it away the best he could. ‘How many letters did you write to your Auntie Lizzie?’
John did a mental calculation. ‘One a month … same number as I wrote to Emily.’
‘And how many replies got through to you?’
Reaching into his pocket, John took out a crumpled envelope. ‘Just the one.’ He had read that letter time and again, until the folds were almost worn through, and the words hardly visible any more.
Archie waved a crooked finger. ‘There you go then! It’s just like I told you. Some of them foreign post offices take your money and don’t give a bugger for your letter. Like as not they’ll tear it up and drop it into the ocean. It’s often the truth that a letter never gets to its destination. And even if it’s put on a ship to be brought home, who’s to say it ever gets to the right address? What! I’ve known men send hundreds and never a one reached home. It happens, that’s all. And there isn’t a damned thing you can do about it.’
‘I expect you’re right, Archie.’ Taking a deep sigh, John blew it out with the words, ‘I hope that’s all it is. I hope she hasn’t found somebody else to take my place.’
Archie wouldn’t hear of it, and besides, ‘Didn’t you say your aunt told you in that there letter, how soon after you’d gone, Emily was so lonely for you, she wouldn’t hardly leave the farm?’
John recalled every word, but, ‘This was got to me in the first month of me being away. I’ve not heard a word since.’
‘Aw, stop your worrying.’ Archie took a swig of his ale and, wiping the froth from his mouth, he promised John, ‘She’ll be there, waiting for you. You needn’t worry about that.’
Encouraged by his pal’s assurances, John put the worries to the back of his mind. ‘I’m going home, matey,’ he said. ‘I’m going home to my Emily, and I’m never leaving her side again.’
Raising his jug of ale, Archie bade John do the same. He gave a toast. ‘To Emily, and yourself. May you live long and be happy together.’
John had another toast. ‘To yourself, Archie. That you find contentment in your new life back ashore.’
They drank to that, and soon Archie took his leave. ‘Got to see a man about a room, then it’s off to find work of a kind,’ he said. ‘You take care of yourself, son. You’ve already given me your aunt’s address, so as soon as I’m settled, I’ll write to you.’ A big grin lifted his features. ‘This letter won’t have oceans to cross, so you should get it all right.’
John watched him leave, and when the loneliness flooded over him, he strode across the room to the bar, where he took instructions from the landlord, paid his way, and was soon shown to the back parlour, where his ‘lukewarm’ bath was ready and waiting.
Some time later, he emerged refreshed, smartly dressed in his new clothes, and ready for his journey. With a lighter heart, he bade the landlord goodbye and headed for the door.
The sooner he was out of the Sailor’s Rest and on his way home, the better.
Chapter 6
‘IT’S NO USE you arguing with me,’ Thomas Isaac insisted. ‘I haven’t been out of this room in weeks, and now I’m feeling stronger, I intend being downstairs to see that little lass blow out her birthday candles.’ His homely old face withered into a crooked smile. ‘Two year old – I can’t believe it!’
Aggie sighed. ‘That’s how quickly life passes us by,’ she said philosophically. ‘She were born March 1903, now it’s suddenly 1905. Two year old today … twelve year old tomorrow. Afore you know it, our Cathleen’ll be a woman with a husband and childer of her own, Lord help us!’
The old fella lapsed into a mood of nostalgia. ‘I just hope the same Good Lord lets me live to see the day.’
Aggie rolled her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Aw, give over, Dad. You’ll not get round me that way. I know you too well to let you bamboozle me into feeling sorry for you.’ She gave him a knowing wink. ‘So you might as well stop trying.’
He looked shocked. ‘I don’t know what yer talking about, woman!’
‘Oh, yes you do,’ Aggie retaliated. ‘You’re badgering me to get you downstairs, even after the doctor has given strict instructions that after this last chest cold o’ yourn, you’re to stay in bed, well wrapped up and with a roaring fire in the grate.’ She was pleased to see that the fire had got a good hold, with the flames already leaping up the chimney. Even in March, when the sun began to struggle through, these farmhouse bedrooms were awfully cold.
‘You make me out to be a tyrant.’ The old man’s querulous voice brought her attention back to him.
‘That’s what you are,’ she teased. ‘And when you can’t find a good argument as to why I should let you get out of your sickbed and risk catching pneumonia, you then start on about the Good Lord, and how you pray He might let you live to see little Cathleen have childer of her own. Playing on my sympathies, so you are – making out you’re hard done by. Same as you allus do.’
He groaned. ‘Yer a fierce woman, Aggie Ramsden. A poor old fella like meself don’t know how to take yer from one minute to the next.’
‘There you go again!’ Aggie cried. ‘Calling yourself a poor old fella, when we all know you’re as crafty as a wagonload o’ monkeys!’ She gave a hearty chuckle. ‘But I can’t blame you for wanting to see the lass blow out her two candles. Moreover, she wouldn’t be happy unless you were there and neither would me or Emily.’ She tried another tack to keep him in his bed. ‘Mind you, we could allus fetch the child and her cake up here to you?’
‘Oh no, you don’t!’ he retorted. ‘I’m coming down. I’ve had enough o’ lying in this damned bed.’
Aggie took a deep, invigorating breath. ‘It doesn’t look like I’ve got much choice.’
‘At last!’ His face lit up like a beacon. ‘So you agree? I’m to be taken downstairs the first minute you get?’
‘We’ll see.’ She knew how to play her father-in-law at his own game. It was asking for trouble to let him win too easily.
‘What d’yer mean, “we’ll see”?’ Opening the palm of his hand, he twirled the porcelain balls on the head of his bed, until they danced and jangled like a band playing a tune. ‘One way or another, I’m going down them stairs, an’ that’s that!’
Knowing how stubborn he could be when the mood took him, Aggie relented. ‘All right, then. But the minute I see you looking peaky, I’ll have you back up these stairs and into that bed afore you know it!’
‘Oh, will yer now?’ Giving her a cheeky wink, he laughed. ‘By! It’s been a long time since a woman made me an offer like that, I can tell yer.’
Aggie, too, laughed out loud. ‘Behave yourself.’ She craftily turned the tables on him. ‘By! I wonder how I’ll get on, carrying you down them stairs?’ she groaned. ‘I mean, you’re not as fit and slim as you were. Come to think of it, you’re an awkward lump. It wouldn’t surprise me if I had to let go of you halfway down. Then what would we do, eh? You could break a leg or summat.’
‘Tormenting me now, is it?’ he said with a twinkle in his eye. ‘You’ll ’ave me down them stairs no trouble,’ he declared. ‘Wi’ you on the one side and Emily on the other, I’ll be safe as ’ouses.’
‘Well, I certainly hope so,’ she answe
red. ‘Look, there’s no need to be getting out of yer bed just yet.’ Glancing at the mantelpiece clock she told him, ‘It’s only just gone ten past six. The child is still fast and hard asleep, bless her little heart. What’s more, our Emily only put the cake in the oven an hour ago. We’re not setting the birthday table until twelve o’clock, so you’ve time enough to get another few hours’ sleep.’
But the old fella didn’t like that idea at all. ‘How can I sleep when I’m not tired?’
‘I don’t know,’ Aggie replied. ‘But you might as well try, ’cause you’re not coming down them stairs for a while yet. And that’s an end to it.’ She repeated her warning in a serious voice. ‘You’re not to tire yourself out, Dad. And if I say you need to get back to your bed, I don’t want no argument. All right?’
Ignoring her pointed question, he asked, ‘Will he be there?’
Aggie was momentarily thrown. ‘Who?’
‘You know who,’ he retorted. ‘That ugly brother o’ yourn.’
Aggie visibly bristled. ‘I’ve no idea where Clem is,’ she answered in a hard voice. ‘What’s more, I don’t care.’ She glanced at the window, her eyes glittering with hatred. ‘If somebody came to the door and told me he’d had an accident and there was no hope for him, I’d throw my hat up in the air.’
‘Good God!’ In all the time he’d known this lovely, caring woman, he had never witnessed such loathing in her eyes. ‘D’yer really hate him that much, lass?’
For a moment he thought she had not heard, because now, as she wandered to the window and stared out, her thoughts appeared to be miles away.
‘Aggie?’ His voice was probing but gentle.
She turned, a quizzical look on her face. ‘What is it, Dad?’
He smiled. ‘I asked … d’yer really hate him that much?’
Giving a wry little smile, she answered, ‘Yes, I hate him that much,’ then added, ‘more than you’ll ever know.’ Then, fearing she had given too much away, she strode back to the bedside. ‘I asked you a question,’ she reminded him. ‘And I still haven’t got an answer.’
He grimaced. ‘I can’t recall you asking me no question.’
‘Right then,’ she declared. ‘I’ll ask it again, and this time I’d like an answer.’ Leaning forward, she stared him in the eye, the smallest of smiles on her face. ‘I asked if you might be thinking of giving me trouble, should I decide you ought to be back in your bed?’
‘By! Yer a persistent devil.’ Taking in a long, deep breath, he blew it out through swollen cheeks. ‘Go on then. I promise.’
Back downstairs, Emily was nowhere to be seen. ‘Where is the lass?’ Realising she must be outside, Aggie set about her tasks. She checked the fire and opened one window slightly to let the fumes from the burning coals disperse. She then replaced the fire-screen and going to the oven, checked the cake which was rising nicely.
When that was done, she went outside to find Emily.
The girl was in the outhouse, her sleeves rolled back, and up to her elbows in the washing tub. ‘I can’t seem to get these stains out,’ she said, rubbing hard at a corner of the bedsheet. ‘I’ve soaked them with a blue bag and scrubbed them with soda, and rubbed them over the washboard until my knuckles are raw, but they just won’t shift.’
Dropping the sheet back into the copper boiler, she blew away a wisp of hair. Wiping an arm over her brow, she leaned against the wall, her face glowing pink and wet from the heat. ‘It’s the last time I let Gramps have beef broth in his bed,’ she said.
Aggie had warned her at the time. ‘I told you,’ she chided. ‘I said not to let him hold the soup-bowl himself.’
‘He threw a fit when I tried to spoon-feed him!’ Emily recalled the occasion well. ‘He said I had no right treating him like a babby and that he was more than capable of holding his own soup-bowl an’ spoon.’
Aggie chuckled and said, imitating Thomas Isaac’s voice: ‘If you can’t trust me to feed meself, then I’ll not eat at all. In fact, yer can take the damned soup away and fetch me some milky-pobs. That’s what yer give babbies, ain’t it?’
Emily laughed. ‘All right, don’t rub it in. He caught me good and proper, but from now on, I’ll be one step ahead of him, the old devil.’ She couldn’t help but feel for him though. ‘It’s his poor old fingers. Some days they’re no problem at all, and other times he can’t even grip the sheet to pull it up over himself.’
‘Aye, lass.’ Aggie felt the same compassion for her father-in-law. ‘That’s what comes of working out in all weathers for the best part of your life.’
Even Aggie couldn’t get the stain of beef broth out of the sheet. ‘Leave it to soak in saltwater,’ she told Emily. ‘You can have another go at it later on. We’d best get on. There’s a cake to be iced and sprinkled wi’ hundreds and thousands, a few cheese straws to make, sandwiches and little fancies to be got ready. Oh, and you’d best preserve your strength,’ she warned. ‘I promised Grandad we’d fetch him down for the occasion.’
With that in mind the two of them set off, back to the scullery and the excitement of the day.
Keeping his distance, Clem Jackson watched them go back into the farmhouse. ‘Bloody women!’ he cursed. ‘I’d just as soon do away with the lot of ’em!’
Recalling how he had attacked Emily in the barn, he had no shame or guilt, but when he realised he had got her with child, he had suffered a few sleepless nights, but only because he was afraid his sister Aggie would find out, and take revenge. Given the right circumstances, she was capable enough. When the blame fell on John Hanley, he was relieved – though up to now he had been wise enough to keep his distance from Emily.
From afar he had watched his daughter grow into a little person, and he was oddly fascinated – though he was not foolish enough to lay claim to her. He was a man who enjoyed his fun, but refused to take the consequences.
Slinging the shotgun across his shoulder, he whistled to his dog and thought, To hell with them all. The taste of John’s name on his tongue was bitter. That young bugger had a lot of gall. At one point, Clem had really feared he might be getting the better of him, and that would never have done, oh no! He recalled how even when he was torn open and bleeding, John had kept coming back at him. That one was dangerous, he mused grudgingly. A man to be reckoned with.
He congratulated himself on having seen the last of John Hanley. One thing was for sure: it would make his life that much easier, now Emily had picked up with the milkman – especially as the man seemed besotted enough to take on the bastard as his own.
All in all, Clem thought he had been clever enough to turn the whole situation to his own advantage. And if ever he felt the need for another tumble in the hay with Emily, he would have no compunction about helping himself.
She would know better than to blab: if she so much as hinted at what had gone on between them, he would make damned sure they would all suffer. She was intelligent enough to know that.
For now though, he had a ‘friend’ of his own in the barmaid at the Red Lion. Bold and brassy, Betty Warwick was more than capable of satisfying his carnal needs for the time being.
As he came up to the top field and his prize-bulls, he leaned on the fence, his proud gaze focused on the great beasts. ‘I knew you were winners right off,’ he told them. ‘Another season an’ you’ll be the best there is. What! I’ll be the envy of every breeder for miles around.’
Nodding with satisfaction he drew such a large breath his chest expanded to twice its size. With the confidence of a man who believes himself to be above the proudest beast, he bade the dog stay where he was, lest he spooked the bulls, then climbed the fence and swaggered past them.
He was not deterred by the sly, watchful look in their eyes. Nor by the reason he had got them at a low price. The cowman’s son at an adjacent farm was nearly trampled to death by them. As it was, he’d been kicked in the thigh and would always walk with a limp. He’d tripped over in his haste to escape, and being a skinny lad, had just ma
naged to roll under the fence in time, their stink in his nostrils, before he’d fainted.
‘The lad was crossing the far side of the field when they came at him,’ the owner had confessed. ‘He was lucky they didn’t kill him.’ He was all for shooting them. But Clem Jackson persuaded him otherwise.
It was eleven-thirty the next morning when John climbed aboard the tram in Blackburn. Tanned by sea and sun, and with a jaunt to his step, he caught the attention of several women passengers. ‘Now there’s a good-looking young man.’ The woman who whispered this was nearer sixty than fifty, and when John smiled at her she didn’t know which way to look, so she turned to her friend. ‘Did you see that?’ she breathed. ‘He’s got a lovely smile, don’t you think?’
Her friend was older and wiser, and the teeniest bit envious. ‘Lovely smile or not, he’s probably on his way to break some young woman’s heart.’ She’d been around long enough to know about such things.
Some way along the tram, John seated himself, paid his fare and got chatting to the conductor. ‘You’ve made a conquest back there,’ the conductor said, rolling the ticket out of his machine and handing it over. ‘Them poor women are swooning all over the place.’
‘I can’t be seen flirting with other women,’ John said with a grin. ‘I don’t think my future wife would like that.’
Being as the tram was almost empty, and this route was a lonely one, the conductor sat in the seat opposite. ‘Oh aye?’ He was ready for a chat. ‘On your way to be wed, are you?’
John nodded. ‘Soonever we can arrange it,’ he said proudly. ‘I’ve been away, but now I’m back for good.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Emily.’
‘Pretty name.’
‘Pretty lady.’
Lovers and Liars Page 10
