Ella was collecting some feed from the barn one morning when she thought she saw something move out of the corner of her eye. ‘Tilda, is that you? Are you hiding in the straw?’ Surely not. It was a Monday. Hadn’t Amos already taken all three children back to their aunt’s house, ready for school?
And then, perhaps startled by the sound of a human voice, a nose and whiskers emerged, sniffing the air. Ella stepped closer, wondering what it was, when suddenly a rat emerged from the straw and ran across her feet.
Ella screamed. Dropping the bag of feed all over the floor she fled out into the yard and ran pell mell straight into Amos. He caught her to him as she flung herself into his arms. ‘What is it, Ella. What’s happened?’
‘It was a rat, a rat! It jumped out at me. Oh, it was awful.’
He began to laugh. ‘There are always rats in the barn. They go after the animal feed.’
‘Well this one came after me.’ Cheeks flushed, Ella struggled to free herself from his grip, but for some reason he held on to her arms, not willing to let her go. ‘You must do something about it, Amos. I refuse to go in there again until you do.’
‘Oh, Ella, have you any idea how very delightful you look when you are cross?’
‘I am not cross, I am furious!’
‘Of course you are. I think I rather like thee furious,’ and suddenly, quite out of the blue, he kissed her. His arms were tight about her waist so there was no hope of escape. He hadn’t shaved yet this morning and the bristles on his chin rubbed quite painfully against hers, but the kiss itself was astonishing, not at all what she might have expected from such a quiet, serious-minded man. His mouth moved over hers in a most demanding, exciting manner, stirring something deep within her that she’d thought quite dead. And it was over far too soon, leaving her breathless.
Amos grinned down at her. ‘I promise I’ll see to the rats, just as soon as I can spare the time.’ Then he walked away, still laughing. Ella put trembling fingers to her lips and wondered what had just happened to her.
The mere that had given Kentmere its name, and was once found in the lower dale between Kentmere Park and Green Quarter, had been drained over fifty years ago by the Victorians. In its place had been built a reservoir to provide water for the bobbin mills and paper-making industry in the villages of Staveley and Burneside in the valley below. High and remote, it must surely be the loneliest spot in all of England. Merely to stand within the amphitheatre of those mountains and look upon the steel grey glimmer of its surface brought a chill to Ella’s heart. The silence of the place was profound, with not even the call of a lark or rustle of a leaf in this treeless setting. She avoided it like the plague. If she walked out at all, which wasn’t often these days, she went down the dale, her feet instinctively leading her in the direction of the village and civilisation.
With her husband, it was quite the opposite. He preferred the tranquillity of the upper fells, could stride up Froswick as if it were a mere anthill and not a mountain of over two thousand feet with steeply forbidding slopes.
Most of all he loved the river. A mere infant when it entered the reservoir, it rapidly grew into a rushing force as it gathered pace down the dale, and having served the local mills, would rush through Kendal and onward to Arnside, bursting into the sea at Morecambe Bay.
Amos claimed that the tarn must once have been a fine spot for fishing, and he rather regretted never having experienced its charms. Nevertheless, there were other places on the river in this part of Kentdale where he loved to fish.
One morning, as he packed his tea can and ham sandwiches, he informed Ella that he would not be on the fells with the sheep today as he intended to go fishing. He hoped to bring home a fat trout or salmon. She was only half listening, being far more concerned with the length of time the kettle was taking to boil when she was desperate to wash her hair.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Mrs Rackett give him a jab with her sharp elbow, whereupon a strange invitation burst out of his mouth. ‘I were wondering if thee – if you would care to join me. It’s a bonny day, not too much sun for fishing, but warm and pleasant all the same. I’ve put up enough food for two.’
Ella looked at him in amazement. ‘Fishing. You want me to come fishing?’
‘You might enjoy it.’
‘I don’t think so.’ She laughed, and then wished she hadn’t as she saw the old woman’s mouth pinch into a tight line of disapproval and saw again that betraying flush on her husband’s cheeks.
‘Thee could… I meant for you to watch. I thought happen you might enjoy a change of scene. But if you’d be bored, forget it. Anyroad, I’d best be off.’ Draping his bag across his shoulders, he picked up his rod and tackle and was striding out the door in a second.
‘You daft happorth,’ the old woman snapped. ‘He were only offering you an hour or two off from the work because you’ve been complaining about having too much to do. Why won’t you give the lad a chance?’
Ella realised with a small shock of surprise that she was right. He’d been attempting to be kind by suggesting she accompany him, even offering to share his picnic. Now she’d said the wrong thing and it was too late to back down.
Mrs Rackett spat in the fire in disgust, her spittle hissing on the coals. ‘Sometimes, madam, you’d cut off your own nose to spite yer face.’
Ella ruefully remembered her own mother saying much the same thing.
Later that day, after she had washed her hair and bathed herself in the tin bath, which Mrs Rackett thought she did far more often than was rightly called for, Ella found herself walking along the lane towards the spot where she knew Amos had gone to fish. The great hump of Ill Bell, dark against the silver blue of the sky, was at her back. Ahead was the smooth sweep of Kentmere Pike, to her right Rainsborrow Crag rising from the green earth like a giant fortress fashioned by God’s hand.
Ella kept on walking, for once almost savouring the silence, watching with interest as puffy white clouds bounced like soft bags of wool before the wind. She heard the lone cry of a curlew, spotted a tiny shrew disappear among a heap of larch and pine needles, no doubt seeking seeds for its supper.
She was heading for the bridge and that part of the river where the waters would be running deep, due to recent rains. Ella saw his bag first, lying abandoned on the bank, neatly fastened and with his rod leaning against it, his old jacket in a crumpled heap beside it. She hesitated. Was he done with fishing already? Had he changed his mind and gone off to see to the sheep after all? In which case he could be anywhere. A sweeping glance of the panorama of mountains all around her revealed no sign of him. And then Ella heard a splash, and there he was.
He was in the river, lying on his back in the fast flowing current, his head thrown back as he gazed up at the blue arc of sky. And he was naked. Flustered to find him thus exposed, Ella stepped quickly back behind a stand of spindly pines, yet couldn’t resist peeking out around the side of one. Even as she watched, he sank his head back under the water, then rose to shake the water from his hair, laughing out loud as the dog, Beth, did the very same thing. Laughing, he threw a stick and the old dog bounded into the water to fetch it, a game that looked as if it had been going on for a while.
Ella was entranced. Man and dog seemed to be having such a good time. Amos looked happy, relaxed, quite different from the serious man who scowled and quoted the scriptures at her.
Before she had time to realise what he was about, he rose from the river like some sort of water god, and for the first time Ella saw the man she had married. She was stunned. In his shabby farming clothes he was nothing special at all. A spindly thin, tired farmer who worked too hard and didn’t have time for fussing over clothes and appearance.
He was standing with his back to her, thank goodness, but she could see that he wasn’t thin at all. He was lean and hard, his shoulders broad, and with muscles rippling in arms that could easily lift a full grown sheep. His body narrowed to slim hips and long, strong legs. He was, without dou
bt, a fine figure of a man, and something very like desire started somewhere deep inside her, spreading outward like the ripples in a tarn.
He wiped his face with the flat of his hands, stood for a moment with arms outstretched to the sun as if in quiet homage, then rested his hands on the top of his head as he gazed at the mountains above, perhaps savouring their beauty. Ella stood enthralled.
Remembering that kiss, and looking on this man, this demi-god who was her husband, for the first time Ella thought that perhaps she might not object to sharing her bed with him after all.
Chapter Seventeen
Josiah had scarcely given the girl a thought since he’d dispatched her to the workhouse, though it did cross his mind that perhaps he should pay a visit to the workhouse, to make sure there was no question of her ever being allowed out. If the girl were set free to gabble her tale to all and sundry, then his carefully built reputation would be in tatters.
It was wrong of Florrie to tell the child that he was her father, and to take it into her silly head to send the girl along to him, seeking favours. He certainly didn’t in any way feel obliged to concede to the request. The very idea of offering his by-blow employment in his own store was ludicrous.
They’d had their little fling, and what fault was it of his if there’d been an unfortunate result in the shape of a baby? He’d pretended an interest, for a while, but once Florrie herself had begun to bore him with all her conversation taken up with teething and milk jellies, he’d been glad to walk away. She should have taken more care to avoid such accidents, as others had done before and since.
He was hoping to be made mayor by next year at the latest, and later taken up as a member of parliament, ultimately a knighthood no less. And why not? Didn’t he deserve it for all he’d done for this town? For the annual treat he helped to fund for the poor souls in the almshouses if nothing else. He certainly had no intention of allowing it to become generally known that he had a love child, a bastard, for goodness sake!
Josiah’s reputation was everything to him, and he would not allow it to be tarnished by some fly-by-night whore, which is what Florrie had turned out to be despite her claims that he’d taken a sweet virgin and used her for his own ends. Utter nonsense! All that talk about her being in love was just so much tosh. What young woman doesn’t know what she’s letting herself in for when she lifts her skirts?
Right now, though, he had more important matters on his mind.
Josiah stared down at a letter spread out on his blotter. It was from the bank manager, dated a week ago, asking him to call in to discuss the state of his account. He hadn’t obeyed the request, which was tantamount to an order, although he couldn’t ignore the problem for much longer. The situation was growing serious and the bank could easily decide to call in his loans, an outcome that didn’t bear thinking about.
Why did events always conspire against him? Horses that fell at the last fence, profits that failed to materialise, property that cost more than he’d bargained for and never got completed because he couldn’t make the final payments to an over-demanding builder. Even the land he’d acquired from his new son-in-law had not proved to be the investment he’d hoped for. Josiah no longer had the money to build on it, and so far had failed to find a buyer willing to take it off his hands. Everything was going wrong for him in this difficult market, and he really had neither the time nor the patience right now for obstinate daughters. He was up to his neck in problems, the pressures upon him mounting daily.
Josiah felt again that familiar tight breathlessness in his chest, which he experienced whenever he allowed things to get on top of him, as he was doing now. He really shouldn’t worry so much. This would all be resolved once the girl was safely married, which it looked as if she was about to be, praise the Lord. He just had to hold tight a little longer and all his troubles would be over.
What bothered him the most, of course, was that Lavinia was a sly little minx. Unlike Ella, whose protests had soon buckled once he’d ratcheted up the pressure, his eldest daughter was quite capable of saying one thing and doing another. Or of changing her mind at the last moment. Josiah was no fool and didn’t trust her fervent assurances, not for a moment.
What he needed to do was speak to Henry Hodson, man to man. It should be possible, if the two of them worked together, to ensure she carried out her promise with all speed. The sooner the pair were wed, the better.
Josiah recalled how fortuitous it had been the day he’d met Amos Todd, quite by chance, at the County Hotel. The two men had become engaged in conversation over lunch, and he’d very soon discovered that while the farmer was in need of a mother for his three children, having recently been bereaved, he was also in possession of a choice piece of land on Sedbergh Road suitable for building purposes. Josiah had invited him to a function he was holding that very afternoon at Angel House, and it had been remarkably simple to come to terms, once the farmer had seen Ella handing round canapés.
Later, on the day of the wedding itself in fact, Josiah had felt duty bound to enlighten the fellow as to his daughter’s faults as well as her many attributes. He’d pointed out that the girl was somewhat lazy and vain, scatter-brained and empty-headed
‘She might prove to be a bit skittish at first, but keep her on a tight rein and she’ll soon come to heel,’ Josiah had advised. ‘I wouldn’t recommend you let her out of your sight for a while, not until she’s grown used to her new harness, as it were.’ Thereby sealing his daughter’s life as a prisoner at Todd Farm for the foreseeable future.
Lavinia, however, was far less malleable and nowhere near as foolish as her younger sister. Nevertheless, she too had her head in the clouds with nonsensical dreams about becoming a ‘modern woman’, whatever that might mean, and could easily take it into her head to do something daft. But she wasn’t nearly so tough when the happiness and health of her dear sisters were at stake. And although he might no longer have any power over Ella, Livia would soon come to heel if she thought her precious Maggie was at risk.
All he had to do, with Hodson’s help, was get her to that altar. Surely not beyond his ingenuity? The moment their union was achieved, all his debts would be settled, and the loan the younger man had made to him considered void. He could then pay off the bank and all would be right with his world.
Josiah lit up a cigar and leant back in his chair to consider his options, savouring his dreams for a prosperous future once this current cash-flow crisis was over.
A tap on the door, which opened immediately, interrupting his thoughts and Miss Caraway marched in without him even giving permission for her to enter. He really should sack the woman, she was far too full of her own importance. A real busybody if ever there was one. Very nearly insubordinate. He would dismiss her, if only she wasn’t so damned efficient.
‘Sorry to interrupt, sir, but it’s the bank manager. He says he’d like a quick word if you’re free, and I see that you are, so I’ll show him in.’ Before he could protest that he was actually extremely busy, let alone extinguish his cigar, the man himself came marching in as if he already owned the damn place.
Maggie was once more vomiting up her breakfast in the water closet, yet it was her sister she was worrying about. Livia ached to find a real purpose in life, something she’d been fretting over for months, and dreaded being married off to anyone, Henry in particular.
Maggie felt sure she’d made this promise only to protect her. If only she knew the truth. She could only hope that she would find some way to wriggle out of it before it was too late.
Their father was a difficult man to fool when it came to pulling the wool over his eyes, and if ever he discovered that Livia had tricked him, there would be all hell to pay.
He never considered the feelings of anyone but himself, not staff, servants, or even the happiness of his own children. Poverty, bereavement, ill health, all left him entirely unmoved. His own needs were paramount. He hadn’t shown the slightest sympathy when she’d been too sick to eat those dra
tted kippers, a malady which seemed to have lingered on ever since.
Now Maggie wiped her mouth, retrieved her diary from its hiding place and crawled back into bed. As she began to write, filling in the commonplace day-to-day happenings, a butterfly she’d seen, or what they’d had for tea, she worried over what illness it was that plagued her. What could she have eaten to upset her stomach so badly and produce this dreadful bilious attack? At first she’d put it down to the late summer heat, but it had been going on for weeks now and was getting no better.
As always, the nausea seemed to go off a little during the course of the day, which was something of a relief, although she still felt generally below par, not at all herself. Then every morning Maggie would find herself once more with her head in the bathroom sink, throwing up the contents of an empty stomach.
Unable to concentrate on her writing, she lay back against the pillows and closed her eyes, utterly exhausted, recalling how often this had happened over the last week or so.
This was the moment when reality struck.
Some memory of her mother being sick in exactly the same manner seeped into her mind. It had been during one of the many pregnancies that had ended in tragedy, yet another miscarriage in her efforts to present her husband with the much longed-for son. Now the truth seemed to strike Maggie as if she’d been shot between the shoulder blades.
She leapt to her feet and ran to stare at herself in the dressing-table mirror. Her own shocked eyes gazed back at her in horror, and she knew without a shadow of a doubt, despite there being no visible signs to prove it, exactly what was wrong with her. She was pregnant. Dear God in heaven, she was carrying her own father’s child.
Oh Lord, now what was she to do?
She knew instinctively that this was one problem she could never share with her sisters. Ella was too far away to be of any help, and was in any case completely scatter-brained with no experience of such things. She was also far too selfish and wrapped up in herself, so very like Father in that respect. The silly girl was, at times, her own worst enemy. It would be useless asking Ella.
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