The Miller's Daughter

by Margaret Dickinson

  She lifted her head and said wearily. ‘Come inside and I’ll tell you everything.’

  When she had finished, William ran his hand distractedly through his hair. ‘What ought we to do? Tell the police?’

  Emma covered her face with her hands and groaned, ‘I don’t know. I just don’t know what to do. Will the police help in a case like this? Can they?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I would have thought so.’ He came and put his arms around her. ‘Look, let’s not panic yet. She’s obviously with Micky. He’ll look after her.’ He paused and then added, as if seeking reassurance himself. ‘Won’t he?’

  ‘Oh yes, he’ll look after her. That I do know. They want her alive and well and married to Micky,’ she finished bitterly.

  ‘You think young Micky’s in on it all then?’

  ‘He must be. Oh, I know he’s not planned it. That’s Leonard. But he must know what’s going on. He must be party to it.’

  ‘Mm.’

  She looked at him. ‘You’re not sure, are you?’

  He sighed heavily and shrugged his shoulders. ‘I suppose you’re right. It’s just – well – a disappointment, that’s all. I actually liked the lad.’

  ‘Yes,’ Emma murmured. ‘I think that’s the worst part. So did I. I daren’t think what Lottie will do. She’s crazy about him. It’ll break her heart. But she’s young. Maybe it’s only infatuation. She’ll get over it.’

  William ran his finger gently down her face, tracing the line of her cheek. ‘Will she?’ he said huskily. ‘Can you be sure of that? I never got over my youthful infatuation. She was – is – the love of my life.’

  Emma closed her eyes but the tears still squeezed out and trickled down her cheeks. ‘Oh William.’

  They went to bed for a couple of hours but there was no sleep for either of them. They lay in each other’s arms. There was no passion, merely a mutual comfort.

  ‘I’d better go and tell Sarah,’ Emma said heavily about eight o’clock. ‘Lottie always nips across to see them before catching the bus to school. Sarah will be watching out for her. I can be back for nine to open the shop.’

  Emma felt as if her feet were leaden as she walked across the yard and through the orchard. Then she stopped. Sarah was standing beneath the trees, a short distance from the wooden hives, watching the comings and goings of her beloved bees. ‘You know,’ she said without looking round, ‘they seem very excited this morning. Now, I wonder what’s going on?’

  ‘Sarah,’ Emma said gently and the older woman turned.

  ‘Oh, it’s you. Emma. I thought it was Lottie.’ Concern flickered across the kindly face. ‘She’s all right, isn’t she?’

  Emma nodded. ‘I’ve got something to tell you and there’s no easy way to put it. Lottie has run away with Micky Smith to – to get married.’

  Sarah stared at her for a moment then smiled and half-turned back towards the hives. ‘You knew, didn’t you?’ Then, turning back to Emma, she said triumphantly, ‘They knew even without me telling them.’

  Emma sighed. Sometimes Sarah and her superstitions about her bees could become irritating, rather than a country woman’s beliefs fondly viewed. Now was one of those times. Quelling the urge to speak sharply, Emma took a deep breath and explained what had happened the previous night. A worried frown deepened the lines in Sarah’s forehead. She glanced back over her shoulder once again and all she said was, ‘Then why are they so pleased about it? That’s what I can’t understand. They seem to think it’s all going to be all right.’

  Emma said nothing, but thought, what wouldn’t I give at this moment to be able to believe the bees too!

  Forty-Six

  The following two days were lived through, though afterwards Emma wondered how they had managed it without going out of their minds with worry.

  ‘Can’t we go after them, William?’

  ‘We could. But where do we start looking?’

  ‘Gretna Green.’

  ‘What, camp outside the blacksmith’s until they turn up? It could be days – weeks even.’

  Emma blinked. ‘Why?’

  ‘Don’t they have to live there for so long before they can get married?’

  ‘I haven’t the faintest idea,’ Emma said bitterly then sighing deeply, she added, for the hundredth time, ‘If only she’d ring.’

  ‘She knows if she does we’ll only try to stop her getting married and make her come home.’

  ‘It shouldn’t be allowed. It all sounds so romantic when you read about people eloping, but it’s not so funny when it happens in your own family. Not when you know what’s behind it.’

  As they sat at the kitchen table late that night nibbling bread and cheese, with no real appetite, bone-weary but dreading having to go to bed to lie awake though the hours of darkness, William said again, ‘We’ll drive up there if you want to, Em. We might be lucky and find them and be able to talk to them.’

  ‘I doubt Lottie would believe us, she’d think—’ Emma began and then broke off, listening. ‘Did you hear something outside?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I thought I heard a noise in the yard.’

  William got up from the table, his chair scraping on the tiled floor, to open the back door. In the light that flooded out into the night, Emma, rising from the table, saw the white, tired faces of the two young runaways.

  She flew round the table and through the door. ‘Oh, Lottie, we’ve been worried sick. How could you?’ She stopped as she saw that her daughter’s face was blotchy, her eyes swollen. It was obvious that she had been crying and the boy’s face was pinched and white, his eyes large, his dark, curly hair ruffled. But, she noticed, he had his arm about Lottie’s shoulders as if to protect her from the expected recriminations. Emma’s hand fluttered to her bosom as beneath it her heart beat painfully. She felt William put his comforting hands on her shoulders. ‘Steady,’ he murmured in her ear. ‘Let’s give them both a chance to explain.’

  Glancing from one to the other, Emma could plainly read the distress on both the young faces and her anger fell away. She swallowed and tried to smile, forcing brightness into her voice as she said, ‘You young scallywags. Come on inside, sit down and I’ll make us all some cocoa.’

  ‘Mum . . .’ Fresh tears were welling in Lottie’s eyes as she allowed herself to be drawn into the warmth of the kitchen. Even in the summer night’s air, Lottie was shivering uncontrollably. ‘Mum, we – we need to talk to you.’

  Emma busied herself at the stove, not wanting to hear what Lottie had to say, but behind her she heard William’s calming voice. ‘Sit down, sit down both of you.’

  ‘Please, Dad, listen—’

  William sighed. ‘We know all about it, love. Your mam went to see Micky’s father. It’s you who doesn’t know what’s behind it all.’

  Emma turned slowly to look at the boy’s stricken face and knew in that instant that whatever Lottie did or didn’t know, Micky Smith at least knew the truth.

  ‘Yes, I do. But you don’t know our side of it all,’ Lottie cried, and Emma and William exchanged a glance.

  The boy spoke for the first time. ‘Please, Mr Metcalfe, will you listen to us. We – I – don’t want to deceive you any longer.’

  For a moment silence fell again, the only sounds in the kitchen being Emma rattling the mugs, the sizzling of the boiling milk and Lottie’s sniffling.

  At last, unable to put the moment off any longer, Emma sat at the table. ‘Well,’ she began bluntly, ‘are you married?’

  The two youngsters glanced at each other then Micky said quietly, ‘No, we’re not—’

  Interrupting, Lottie burst out, ‘But we will be – whatever you say – we will get married. You can’t stop us.’

  Emma felt the colour drain from her face. She opened her mouth to speak but before she could utter a word, the young man put his hand over Lottie’s and said calmly, in a surprisingly mature way, ‘Let me handle this, Lottie. Please.’

  His gaze turned to face both E
mma and William. ‘We know what you’ll say – ’ a small smile quirked the corner of his mouth, ‘that we’re too young, and apart from that . . .’ He stared straight into Emma’s bright eyes. ‘If, in the last two days, you’ve been speaking to my father then perhaps you know that there’s a lot more to it than just the fact that we want to get married.’

  ‘Oh yes. Your father left me in no doubt that it had all been his little plot to get his revenge on me and my father. He means to have what he believes is his inheritance by whatever means it takes.’ She paused and looked deeply into Micky’s eyes, eyes that were like Leonard’s and yet they lacked that cold, greedy glint. This young man returned her look unflinchingly. ‘What hurts,’ she said softly, ‘is that you could have been part of his wicked scheme. That you could hurt Lottie so—’

  ‘But that’s just it, Mum, he hasn’t, he didn’t—’

  Again, Emma saw Micky pat Lottie’s hand as he said steadily. ‘My father brought me over here to live with my grandmother nearly a year ago. At first, he told me it was because he was concerned about my grandmother living on her own as she’s getting old.’ The boy shrugged. ‘I didn’t mind. I’ve always loved my gran and I enjoy being with her. I wasn’t all that happy at the school I was in and the Grammar School here offered better choices in the A levels I want to do.’ He grinned swiftly, ‘Providing I get what I need in the O levels, of course. Dad came over a couple of times a year and each time he came, he would ask me about school and any friends I had made. I thought, at first, he was concerned that I was happy here.’

  ‘Bridget said you came because you had asthma badly in the city and that this air suited you better,’ Emma cut in.

  The boy sighed and said flatly, ‘I’ve never had asthma in my life and, although she is getting on a bit, my grandmother scarcely needs looking after. I’ve never seen anyone of well over eighty so sprightly.’

  ‘Are you telling us,’ William asked quietly, ‘that you didn’t know what your father was planning?’

  Micky sighed. ‘Not then, no, I didn’t. It was when I mentioned knowing Lottie that he started to get really interested. It’s funny really, looking back,’ Micky shook his head slowly. ‘Of course I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but he almost rubbed his hands.’ Micky’s expression was comical. ‘“You get yourself a nice girlfriend,” he said. “Never mind all these flashy pieces, you stick to the nice, steady sort of girl. Never mind if they’re not pretty, it’s what they bring to a marriage that counts, boy.”’ Micky glanced apologetically at Lottie, who smiled.

  Safe in the knowledge of her own prettiness, Lottie could brush aside the insult. But for Emma, sitting there listening to the words falling so innocently from the boy’s lips, she felt again the humiliation of her own girlhood. Micky couldn’t possibly know how his words could dredge up the cruel past, but she felt William reach out and take her hand into his. William knew. She gave his hand an answering squeeze.

  “‘This girl”, Dad said, “this girl called Charlotte Metcalfe? She’s sounds a nice girl. You stick with her. And if her parents run a mill and a shop too, well, you’d be well set up for life, boy.”’

  Emma’s hold on William’s hand tightened, but she said nothing. How many more times would poor Grandpa Charlie’s mill become the centre of such bitterness and greed?

  Micky leant towards them. ‘You know, Mr Metcalfe, I must have been stupid, because I didn’t realize until afterwards that I’d never told him that Lottie’s parents owned this mill.’

  There was silence in the kitchen for a moment, then William said flatly, ‘But you still went along with what he wanted? You still became friends with Lottie?’

  ‘Only because I wanted to. If I’d known – or even guessed – what he was really up to I’d have run as fast as I could in the opposite direction. Trouble is,’ the boy bit his lip, ‘I really do care for Lottie. But I suppose he’s wrecked it for us now. There’s no chance you’d ever agree—’

  ‘No, don’t say that,’ Lottie butted in, unable to keep silent any longer. She turned pleading eyes upon her parents. ‘We do love each other, Mum – Dad. And you must believe Micky. He wasn’t part of it.’

  Emma and William exchanged a glance and when she gave a slight nod. William said, ‘We do believe you, lad. But I’m still wondering if you know the whole story?’

  ‘Last week Dad arrived at Gran’s unexpectedly,’ Micky went on. “‘What’s this about you and the Metcalfe girl?” Gran must have said something in a letter that we’d been going out together. I thought I was in for a right telling-off. Because of it being exam time, you know. But it was just the opposite. He asked me if we wanted to get married and when I said yes, when we were older, he said, “Why wait? Why don’t you run away together? Girls like to be swept of their feet. I’ll help you.”’

  Micky shook his head, surprised at himself. ‘I must have been thick, I still didn’t think there was anything, well, odd about it all. Not even when he said it again, “That mill will be hers one day.”’ The boy was obviously feeling awkward at the telling of this part of his story, but he took a deep breath and went on, ‘I told him that wasn’t the reason why I wanted to marry Lottie, but he only laughed and said, “But you have to think of these things and besides you’d be righting a wrong that was done to me years ago.” When I asked him what he meant, he said that the mill was rightly his and therefore should always have been mine one day anyway.’ The boy looked from one to the other of them. ‘But I don’t understand what he meant. Lottie says that the mill has always been in your family, Mrs Metcalfe. That your name was Forrest.’

  Emma took a deep breath ‘You don’t know, then, that I was – still am, maybe – married to Leonard Smith, your father.’

  Shock, incredulity, and finally disbelief flitted across the two young faces in front of her. ‘Married to Micky’s father?’ Lottie squeaked. ‘You don’t mean – oh, you can’t mean – that we’re brother and sister?’

  ‘No, no,’ Emma put out her hand swiftly. ‘William is your father and obviously Helen is Micky’s mother. You’re not related by blood at all, only connected by a peculiar set of circumstances.’

  She told them everything, sparing neither herself, nor William, in the telling of it. She told them about her girlish love for Jamie Metcalfe, how she had married Leonard Smith and how she had found out afterwards the terms of the agreement between her father and her husband.

  ‘When my father died, he left everything to his grandson, Charles Forrest Smith, cutting out Leonard completely. Charles was killed in the war and under the terms of the will, the mill reverted to me, not to Billy. Billy was not born, you see, until after my father had died. Leonard never forgave my father, or me, for what happened. And this,’ she glanced at their shocked faces in front of her, ‘is his revenge.’

  Lottie’s quick mind was working. ‘You say we’re not related, me and Micky, but how come . . .?’ Her glance went from one to the other of her parents.

  William sighed. It was his turn to do the explaining about what had happened in the war and at the end of it, he said, ‘I really don’t know how we stand legally. We’ll have to consult a lawyer.’

  ‘But – but that would let everyone know my dad is still alive,’ Micky burst out. ‘Could he still be arrested for desertion?’

  Grimly, Emma said, ‘Frankly, I don’t know, but it wouldn’t bother me if he was.’

  When she saw the boy’s anxious face, she shook her head sadly. ‘Why couldn’t he just let things be? Surely, his new life and the farm in France were enough?’

  Quietly Micky said, ‘He and my mother aren’t married. I did know that. It came out at school when I was little. You know how cruel young kids are? My mother is English. She was married to a Frenchman who was killed working with the resistance. She continued to run his farm, but it was never legally hers. My dad was on the run from the army, met her and moved in with her. As soon as the war ended, her husband’s family fought her for possession of the farm. She l
ost and that’s when we came to England.’

  ‘So,’ William said, ‘Leonard no doubt felt himself cheated for a second time.’

  Micky looked uncomfortable. ‘There’s – there’s something else. After we left the farm, the next day, it – burnt down. The farmhouse, the barns, everything.’

  ‘You don’t mean – ?’ Emma breathed, ‘Leonard?’

  The boy was embarrassed. ‘I don’t know. My mother told me about it years later. Nothing was ever proved, but . . .’ He left the words hanging in the silence.

  It was Lottie who broke it eventually, saying, ‘So you will let us get married?’

  ‘Darling, you’re both far too young.’ Emma reached out to touch her daughter’s hand, but the girl snatched it away. To see the sunny-natured, pretty Lottie with her face blotchy with weeping was like a knife piercing Emma’s heart. She leaned forward. ‘Lottie. Why all the rush? Are you – pregnant?’

  The girl’s eyes widened and a small gasp escaped her lips. ‘No, I am not.’ Her indignation was enough. They could see she was telling the truth. The two youngsters glanced at each other and then Micky said determinedly, although the slight tremor in his voice and the pallor of his face told his listeners of his nervousness. ‘We mean to marry and – one day – we will.’

  ‘At least I will be properly married,’ Lottie said.

  ‘Now, now, Lottie. That wasn’t necessary, love.’ William’s deep, calm voice remonstrated gently.

  Micky, his face colouring slightly, said, ‘I really have come to care for Lottie and I do want to marry her, but for all the right reasons and not just because my dad had this hare-brained scheme of getting back what he thinks belongs to him. I just hope you’re going to believe me.’

  William and Emma glanced at each other. ‘Well,’ he said softly. ‘What do you think, Em?’

  Suddenly, the relief making her feel almost lightheaded, Emma’s brilliant eyes sparkled with mischief as she said, ‘Well, unless young Micky here is a very clever manipulator trying to pull some kind of double bluff, then, yes, I think I do believe him.’