The Miller's Daughter

by Margaret Dickinson

She wandered amongst the stalls until she found herself near the archway leading to the smithy. Even from here, with the bustling chatter of the market behind her, she could hear the heavy clang, clang of Jamie’s hammer.

  Oh, Jamie, Jamie, her heart yearned, if only . . .

  ‘Em?’

  She heard her name spoken and turned to find herself looking straight into William’s concerned gaze. He was standing a few feet away from her at the entrance into the yard of his wheelwright’s workshop on the other side of the archway. Her smile was swift and genuine and she saw immediately the worry in his eyes lighten as he smiled in return.

  ‘It’s good to see you,’ he said. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Fine. Fine.’

  Was her tone a little too bright, perhaps a little too brittle, to be convincing, for there was a sudden fleeting shadow in William’s eyes again.

  ‘Really?’ he persisted. ‘Are you really – happy?’

  She put her hand on his arm. She could hear the concern for her in his voice, knew in that moment that in all of this, here was one person who was genuinely concerned for her. She was on the point of telling him about the conversation between her father and Luke but suddenly pride stilled her tongue. Had she not been humiliated long enough knowing that all the village men laughed about her; how they had mocked Jamie Metcalfe in his tentative courtship. ‘She’ll mek a fine wife for a Metcalfe,’ she knew they had said. ‘Young Emma Forrest – and her mill! It’s what old Josiah always wanted.’ The village gossip had added fuel to his father’s final letter and made the proud Jamie Metcalfe turn his back on her and any chance of happiness they might have had, even though she was convinced he still loved her if only he would let himself.

  She wanted no one to know that those taunts had come true. Although it was not Jamie who had married her, her father had still struck some kind of bargain with her prospective husband, even though she did not know at this moment what exactly that bargain had been.

  So, she smiled brightly, concealing the hurt and, neatly avoiding a direct answer to his question, for even now Emma found she could not lie, said, ‘I’m fine. And you? Are you well? And Jamie? How – ’ her voice faltered ever so slightly, ‘is Jamie?’

  William’s eyes darkened. ‘Well enough,’ he said brusquely in tones that were quite unlike his usual self.

  She stared at him. ‘William? What is it? Is something wrong? Is – is he ill? Tell me.’

  William shook his head. ‘No, oh no,’ he said harshly, his expression grim. ‘He’s not ill, unless he’s sick in his head.’

  Emma gasped. ‘Whatever do you mean?’

  He sighed and the anger seemed to drain from him leaving only a great sadness. ‘We do nothing but quarrel. All the time. I’m not sure just how much more I can take. If it doesn’t stop soon, I – I think I shall leave.’

  ‘Leave? Oh no, William. You can’t leave. I – I . . .’

  As she hesitated, she saw a spark in William’s eyes and his hand suddenly covered hers that still lay on his arm. ‘What, Em?’ he prompted ever so softly.

  She swallowed and said, ‘What about Jamie? You can’t leave him to cope alone. Not after he’s been through so much in the war. You know how hard it was for you. Things will get better. You’ll see. He’ll come around.’

  The light died in the young man’s eyes. ‘Will he, Emma?’ His voice was heavy with sadness and a kind of defeat. ‘He didn’t for you, did he?’ For a long moment, amidst the bustle and jostling of the crowded market place, they stood and stared at each other. ‘I wonder,’ he said slowly, ‘if my brother will ever realize what an utter fool he’s been.’

  Then, pulling away from her he turned suddenly, and was gone and, though she stood and watched him, he did not look back.

  Sixteen

  ‘Where’s my tea? Where’ve you been gallivanting off to now, girl?’

  ‘I’ve been to the butcher’s, that’s all,’ Emma said, outwardly calm though her heart was pounding with anger she knew she must hold in check. She wanted to shout and scream and demand to be told what deal had been struck between Harry Forrest and Leonard, a deal in which she was the pawn.

  ‘Well, I’ve work to do and I need me tea ’afore I start. The wind’s getting up now. I’ll be working all night.’

  She turned away and busied herself at the kitchen range. Trying to keep her voice level, she remarked with apparent innocence, ‘Luke will have started Ben Popple’s grain.’

  She bit her lip and held her breath. Had she given herself away already, revealing that she knew it was Farmer Popple’s grain that was waiting to be ground? Emma chided herself. She really was no good at trying to be devious and was too honest for her own good sometimes. But her father, caught up in his own thoughts, did not appear to notice. His reply was a grunt and a doubtful, ‘Mebbe so.’

  He ate the meal she placed before him, rose from the table and, without a word of thanks, moved to the door. His hand on the latch, he glanced back at her. ‘When will that husband of yours be home? I might need his help tonight.’

  She shrugged. ‘He went to Lincoln this morning but couldn’t tell me how long he would be away. He took a suitcase with him, so I suppose he’ll stay overnight at least.’

  Harry Forrest frowned, grunted with irritation and left the kitchen.

  Emma completed her household chores and turned down the lamp. She hesitated, pondering whether she should go across the yard to the mill to help her father, knowing that he was completely alone there. But for once, she remained coldly resolute and readied herself for bed, only to lie awake far into the night, listening to the rhythmic sound of the mills sails, turning, turning in the darkness.

  What time she fell asleep she did not know, but she awoke with a start in the half light of early morning. Emma swung her legs out of bed and stood up to be overcome at once by a feeling of dizziness and nausea. It must be reaction from a restless night and yesterday’s upset. She had scarcely reached the washstand before beginning to retch, leaning over the bowl until she felt pale and exhausted. She wanted to do nothing more than to creep back into bed until someone brought her a cup of tea.

  But there was little chance of that. This morning there was not only no Leonard – as usual – she thought bitterly, but it was more than likely that there would be no Sarah or Luke either. She dressed hurriedly. Shivering and still feeling queasy, she went downstairs to a cold kitchen and a silent and deserted bakehouse.

  Opening the back door she could see the sails still turning against the pale light of dawn. Her father had worked all night. She knew he must be exhausted, and felt a moment’s guilt. But it was only for a moment when she remembered again the quarrel which had caused all this. Sighing, she bent to pick up the bellows to blow the embers in the range into life and set the kettle on the hob. At least she would make them both a cup of tea before she tackled the work in the bakehouse. Freshly baked bread would most definitely be late this morning and she well knew the grumbling that would cause amongst their customers.

  As she carried a mug of tea across the yard, her mouth was pursed with disapproval at yesterday’s quarrel, never mind the inner anguish it was causing her.

  ‘Oh, you’ve decided to stir yourself, have you?’ was the only greeting her father gave her. In silence she handed him the mug and turned to leave.

  ‘I could use some help here. I’ve been up all night.’

  ‘Have you really?’ she said carefully. ‘Well, Luke should be here any moment and then you can come across for your breakfast. He’s late though. He hasn’t even lit the fires in the bakehouse. Perhaps I ought to go and see if anything’s wrong.’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing,’ her father barked. ‘Leave ’im be. We had words yesterday and I ’spect he’s doing it to pay me back.’

  ‘Oh well, it’s not the first time,’ Emma said airily, though she lowered her gaze lest he should notice the glint in her eyes. ‘And with you two, I don’t expect it’ll be the last.’

  His only
reply was a grunt.

  ‘I’d better go and get things started, but I shall be behind all day if I’ve everything to do.’

  He blinked and stared at her. ‘Eh?’

  ‘Sarah’s not come into work either. We’re on our own. Father.’

  ‘It was ’im I sacked, not her.’

  Emma forced surprise on to her face as she said, ‘Sacked him? You sacked Luke?’

  ‘He were getting far too uppity. He had no right to say what he did.’

  Keeping her voice level, Emma asked, ‘And what was that, Father?’

  ‘Never you mind, girl,’ he growled. ‘Ya’d best get into yon bakehouse if we’re to have any bread to sell today. Go and fetch Sarah.’

  ‘I doubt she’ll come. If that’s what’s happened, she’s going to take his side, isn’t she?’

  ‘Huh, so that’s how it is, is it? And after all I’ve done for him over the years. I’ve a good mind to turn ’em out of the cottage an’ all. But I tell you one thing, girl, I’ll not tek him back, not now, not if he were to beg me on bended knees, I won’t. And I’ll mek sure he’ll have to go cap in hand if he wants to work anywhere in this village again.’

  ‘It’ll likely you’ll be the one going cap in hand, Father,’ she flung back over her shoulder as she left the mill and went back towards the house.

  ‘Never!’ Harry Forrest roared into the sharp morning air. ‘Never in a million years.’

  ‘We don’t need that nosey old beggar any longer,’ Harry Forrest decided the following morning when once more neither Luke nor Sarah appeared. ‘Just ’cos we grew up together he reckons he can let his mouth say what it likes and get away with it. Well, he’s gone too far this time.’

  ‘We can’t manage to run things without Luke and Sarah, Father, and you know it.’ Emma faced up to him. ‘I can’t possibly manage the bakehouse and the bakery on my own, nor can you manage that mill single-handed.’

  ‘Bridget will help you in the bakery,’ Harry Forrest decided. ‘And I’ll get a lad from the village to help me in the mill.’

  ‘Why don’t you ask Leonard—’

  Almost before the words had left her mouth, her father snapped a reply. ‘Yon lad’s got his own affairs to attend to. He dun’t want nowt to do wi’ the mill. He told me that ’afore you was wed.’

  ‘Did he indeed?’ Emma said quietly and her eyes narrowed as she regarded her father thoughtfully. ‘Why was that then?’

  ‘Eh?’ he grunted. ‘Why? Obvious, ain’t it? He dun’t know owt about milling. You know he dun’t.’

  ‘But a young man like him can always learn, if he’d a mind.’

  ‘Well, he hasn’t,’ Harry said shortly.

  ‘But you were ready to ask him to help the other night,’ she put in slyly. ‘When you had to work all night on your own.’

  ‘That was different. That was an emergency. If the lad ’ad been here, I’m sure he’d have given me a hand. Just the once.’

  ‘Perhaps Leonard wouldn’t mind helping you now and then. I’ll ask him, if you like.’

  ‘I’ve told you “no” and you’ll do as I say.’ He turned away. ‘I ain’t time to be standing here arguing with you, girl.’

  Emma stood a moment longer watching him cross the yard, her troubled eyes watching him thoughtfully. Why, she wondered, was her father so adamant that Leonard was not to be involved in the mill now, even though in the quarrel with Luke he had said that the mill would be Leonard’s one day? She had imagined that the deal must have been that if he agreed to marry her, Leonard would inherit the mill when her father died. She frowned. But that was what her father had always scathingly predicted would be the demand of any young man who could be persuaded to marry her. Why, then, had he agreed to that very thing? Was it just because Leonard was Bridget’s son and Harry Forrest, being besotted by the mother, was prepared to promise the son anything, even his family’s mill? And why then, did Leonard want nothing to do with the mill? If he had no interest in the mill, what then had been in the ‘deal’ for him?

  Emma gave a slight shake of her head, more confused than ever, sighed and went into the bakehouse to light the ovens.

  ‘Luke won’t let me come back to work,’ Sarah stood awkwardly outside the back door three days after the quarrel had occurred, as if she dare not even cross the threshold. She shifted her weight uneasily from one foot to the other, her normally smiling face sober and her eyes troubled. ‘I’ve tried reasoning with him – pleading. I even turned on the water taps, but he won’t budge.’ The woman bit her lip. ‘How are you going to manage, Emma lass?’

  Emma was surprised. Usually Sarah could win Luke round about most things in the end. This time, it seemed, was different.

  ‘Goodness knows . . .’ she began.

  From the bakery at the front, came the sound of tinkling laughter and, hearing it, Sarah’s eyes widened.

  Emma nodded towards the shop. ‘Bridget – Mrs Smith. Father has asked her to come and help out in the mornings.’

  Sarah’s mouth formed a rounded, silent ‘oh’ and she shrugged her plump shoulders. ‘Oh, well then,’ she said aloud, ‘if you’ve got some help, then it’s not so bad.’ But there was a hurt deep in her eyes and her round face sagged into lines of sadness.

  Emma gave a snort of wry amusement. ‘She didn’t get here until ten o’clock. Day’s half gone then – at least a baker’s day.’

  At that Sarah pulled a face in an expression of sympathy and said again, ‘Oh.’ And added, ‘Like that, is it?’

  ‘Yes. It is “like that”.’

  ‘Emma dear,’ came Bridget’s high-pitched voice. ‘How much are these little bread bun things?’

  Emma sighed. ‘I’ll have to go, Sarah, but I’ll come over this evening to see you both.’

  ‘I won’t go back. He can throw us out on the street, if he likes. I don’t care. I’m in the right – and he knows it.’

  ‘What started it all anyway?’ she asked, still pretending that she knew nothing.

  Luke’s frown deepened. ‘Never you mind.’

  Emma could not remember ever having seen Luke so incensed. The quarrel between her father and his lifelong friend and employee went deep, much deeper, Emma felt, than she or Sarah could understand.

  She sighed. ‘He’ll not throw you out. He’d not do that.’

  Luke grunted. ‘Mebbe not. But I’m not sure I want to live in a place belonging to Harry Forrest any longer.’

  ‘Oh, Luke, no!’ Sarah’s eyes were wide with fear. ‘We can’t uproot. This is our home. What about me bees?’ Then as a fresh thought came to her, Sarah turned her worried eyes on Emma. ‘Oh, Emma – I can still look after the bees, can’t I? I – I mean by rights, they’re yours, but . . .’

  For the first time since the dreadful quarrel that was causing all this disruption in their lives, Emma smiled and gave Sarah a swift hug, ‘Of course you can still look after the bees. We certainly don’t want them deserting us just now.’

  ‘Oh, thank you. I couldn’t bear it, especially as they’re a bit unsettled now—’ Sarah broke off and looked towards Luke who gave a slight shake of his head.

  Emma glanced from one to the other and then back again. ‘Unsettled? The bees? How do you mean?’

  Sarah fingered the edge of her apron, running it between her fingers. ‘Oh, it’s nothing. Nothing really.’

  ‘No, it isn’t “nothing” to you, Sarah. Is it because of this quarrel? Please tell me.’

  The two women looked towards Luke, but he was silent, refusing to look at either of them. He sat in his chair at the side of the range and packed his clay pipe with tobacco, his mouth a tight, unyielding line.

  Suddenly he said, ‘Mebbe, mebbe not.’ Slowly he turned his head to look at Emma. ‘The bees have deserted one of the hives. The one she put a piece of your wedding cake in.’

  Emma stared at him, mystified. This was one custom she had not heard of before. ‘Cake?’ she asked. ‘My wedding cake? Why?’ She turned to Sarah. ‘Why, Sarah?’<
br />
  ‘We allus put a piece of funeral cake and a drop of wine in the hives when someone in the family dies. We did it when ya grandpa was killed and when ya mam died. It’s a custom.’

  Emma nodded. That much she did know. ‘But I’ve never heard about doing it with wedding cake.’

  ‘No more had I,’ Luke stabbed the air with his pipe. ‘That’s ’er own daft idea and look where it’s got her. All worried and upset now ’cos she thinks the bees don’t approve of your marriage.’ He sniffed. ‘Mind you, mebbe them bees have got more sense than I’ve given ’em credit for, ’cos I don’t approve of it either. But,’ he added swiftly, ‘if you’re happy, Emma lass, then I’ll say no more about it, ’cos you’re the only person I’m bothered about now.’

  ‘Oh, Luke,’ Emma said sadly. ‘Don’t say that. Not after all the years you and my father have been friends.’

  But the old man sat in his chair gazing into the fire, his teeth clamped stubbornly on his pipe, refusing to say any more.

  Emma sighed and glanced at Sarah, who shrugged helplessly. Wearily, knowing there was nothing else she could do, Emma got to her feet. Suddenly, such a wave of nausea and dizziness swept over her, that she sat down again, holding her head in her hands.

  ‘What is it, Emma? What’s the matter?’ Sarah was instantly at her side.

  ‘I don’t know. I just felt so dizzy. All the upset, I suppose. And I haven’t eaten since dinner time.’ She made as if to rise again but Sarah pressed her back into the chair.

  ‘Sit there, love, and I’ll get you a bite to eat.’

  Emma did as she was told. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead and the room seemed to swim. She bent forward, her head was resting on her knees until the dizziness subsided. When she raised her head again carefully and opened her eyes, it was to see Luke watching her with troubled, guilty eyes.

  Seventeen

  ‘So, old Luke’s not working for you any more then?’

  Emma, bending over one of the market stalls to examine the fruit, felt the breath leave her body. Slowly she straightened up and turned to face the man standing behind her.