Friendship's Bond

by Meg Hutchinson

  CONTENTS

  Friendship’s Bond

  Also by Meg Hutchinson

  Imprint Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgement

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Friendship’s Bond

  Meg Hutchinson

  www.hodder.co.uk

  Also by Meg Hutchinson

  Abel’s Daughter

  For the Sake of Her Child

  A Handful of Silver

  No Place of Angels

  A Promise Given

  Bitter Seed

  A Love Forbidden

  Pit Bank Wench

  Child of Sin

  No Place for a Woman

  The Judas Touch

  Peppercorn Woman

  Unholy Love

  The Deverell Woman

  Sixpenny Girl

  Heritage of Shame

  Pauper’s Child

  Ties of Love

  For the Love of a Sister

  The Wanton Redhead

  All is Not Enough

  A Step Too Far

  A Sister’s Tears

  Writing as Margaret Astbury

  The Hitch-Hiker

  The Seal

  Devil’s Own Daughter

  Non-fiction

  A Penny Dip: My Black Country Girlhood

  First published in Great Britain in 2010 by Hodder & Stoughton

  An Hachette UK company

  Copyright © Meg Hutchinson 2010

  The right of Meg Hutchinson to be identified as the Author

  of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with

  the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored

  in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without

  the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in

  any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and

  without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious

  and any resemblance to real persons, living

  or dead, is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

  Epub ISBN 9781444713862

  Book ISBN 9781444713848

  Hodder & Stoughton Ltd

  An Hachette UK company

  338 Euston Road

  London NW1 3BH

  www.hodder.co.uk

  For my husband who is, and always will be, part of me

  Acknowledgement

  I am very grateful to Pierre Gilliard for his wonderful book Thirteen Years at the Russian Court, which has proved an invaluable source for my research.

  Chapter 1

  ‘So what is it the Lord decrees? You are His self-appointed spokesman, the one chosen to carry His word, to interpret His will to those less favoured, so tell me: is it the Lord’s will I turn Alec from this house, that I leave him friendless and alone in a land foreign to him? Is that God’s decree or is it yours?’

  As she stared into the cold grey deadness of an empty fire grate Ann remembered these words, saw again the pinched mouth of Thomas Thorpe tighten, making his thin lips disappear while his pale eyes glittered with the displeasure her retort had aroused.

  ‘I am simply telling you what the people are saying; they think it wrong that a young man and woman who are not of the same blood are living together under the same roof.’

  ‘The people! The people think it is wrong!?’ she had replied quietly. ‘And you, Mr Thorpe, how did you answer the people; did you, as you so frequently do, quote the Scriptures? Did you remind them of the words Jesus spoke, words which tell us to love our neighbour as ourself?’

  Had she hoped her words would touch the man’s conscience, have him retract what he must know to be untrue? Perhaps. Ann pulled her worn coat closer in an attempt to ward off a shiver, not so much because of the cold of an autumn morning as at the remembered icy gleam of his narrowed eyes. Thomas Thorpe’s sharply pointed nostrils had flared at her perceived reprimand.

  ‘The congregation,’ he had snapped, ‘the congregation is concerned that chapel property, namely this house, is being put to misuse.’

  She had understood the implication of his words but had deliberately raised a questioning eyebrow. Whether self-elected bearer of the congregation’s misgivings or, as she suspected, the vessel of his own spite-filled intentions, Thomas Thorpe was going to be made to put his accusation into words.

  Had she not challenged him, not confronted him in so direct a fashion then maybe Alec and herself would not now be homeless; but her indignation at the falsity of the allegation had swept away any thought of caution.

  ‘Misuse? What exactly is the nature of the misuse the congregation fears? But then it is unfair of them to let you bear the brunt of their dissatisfaction; I cannot let you be their sole spokesman while they remain in the background. Therefore I shall meet with them in the chapel, I shall demand they say outright what they mean.’

  She had seen the result of that, the quick flicker of alarm flash across his eyes, the sudden uneasy twist of a stone-hard mouth; she had seen Thomas Thorpe’s guilt and he . . . ? He knew it had been observed, that he stood condemned by his own reaction; but the flare of recognition vanished as swiftly as it had come. Staring straight at her he had laughed, a low victorious laugh.

  ‘That . . .’

  His laugh had become a snarl.

  ‘That will not happen. You see, the congregation have expressed the wish you no longer be allowed to worship there.’

  ‘The chapel is a House of God, no one can deny me the right to attend divine service.’

  ‘Indeed,’ he had answered, ‘and as a responsible member of the Church I pointed out the same at the meeting.’

  Ann’s heart flicked as it had on hearing those words. There had been a meeting, one kept secret so as to afford her no chance to defend herself against any scurrilous allegation; and on whose instigation? The answer had been clear to read in those sly fox-like eyes: Thomas Thorpe’s.

  ‘I reminded them of that.’

  The snarl had softened, his confidence of success lending a smarmy obsequious note.

  ‘I said that while they might exclude you from their company you could not be refused entry into the building though I feel, given you are no longer welcome there, it would prove less painful for you should you choose to worship elsewhere.’

  No longer welcome! He had smiled with vulpine malice on hearing her sharp catch of breath at those words. Thomas Thorpe had been extracting revenge for her refusal to be flattered by his attentions; she had told him the advances he pressed
were unwelcome, that she had no desire for a relationship other than that which existed at present. Was this why the meeting had been held without her knowledge? Had Thomas Thorpe’s vanity been so injured he would see her not only excluded from the chapel but shamed and humiliated in the eyes of its congregation, with her reputation sullied by unsavoury gossip? Or was there yet another reason, one even more important to Thomas Thorpe than revenge?

  Watching him in this room yesterday she had felt supposition harden into certainty. The man was afraid of his own reputation being brought into question. Given the opportunity of coming face to face with her fellow worshippers she might denounce him, inform the people of the true characteristics of their so-pious lay preacher. Seeming to guess her thoughts he had gone on.

  ‘You were aware when offered the tenancy of this house that it is the property of the chapel. As with that building, the congregation bought and now maintain it with their offerings and therefore their wishes as to its occupancy must as a courtesy be observed.’

  ‘And that wish is?’

  He had shuffled his feet, glanced at the hat held in his hands in a show of discomfort but the instinct which had told her his fears were for his own standing in the community had told her just as definitely there was no regret. It was no more than pretence, a fabrication designed to mask the spite he really felt, which could only be sated by seeing her thoroughly discredited.

  ‘I’m sorry . . .’

  Had he smiled on saying that? Had the slight clearing of the throat been a suppressed laugh? A moment later those animal-sharp eyes had met hers with all the triumph of the victor about to deliver the final blow.

  ‘. . . you understand I am simply the messenger, had I any influence . . .’

  She had wanted to scream at the hypocrisy she discerned beneath that self-absolution but instead had interrupted calmly.

  ‘Was it not your influence which secured me this house, did you not recommend me as a tenant?’

  The question had disconcerted him but his recovery had been swift. Thomas Thorpe was too certain of his own superiority in the eyes of the people he claimed to represent to allow any question of hers to frustrate what was plainly his purpose, yet even so she had persisted.

  ‘You were aware at that time of the relationship between Alec and myself. Surely you shared that knowledge with the others so why is it only now they find that relationship to be unacceptable?’

  He had drawn a long breath as if to bolster himself for the delivery of sorrowful news but the gleam in his eyes had proclaimed only elation. ‘Miss Spencer, I can only say what I have been requested by the congregation to say; that is to inform you the tenancy of this house can no longer be extended to you. Having received this due notice you will vacate the property by noon tomorrow.’

  ‘What you have been requested to say . . .’

  She had repeated the words calmly but disbelievingly. Then at his threatening glance she had continued.

  ‘. . . while you of course tried to convince them their concerns were unfounded; you told them how your own attempts to seduce their tenant had met with rejection and with her having refused such a moral, upright man then assuredly she was too virtuous a woman ever to think of indulging in wrongdoing with a boy. Or is that something else I should put to the congregation?’

  Her refusal to become his mistress might as she had surmised have punctured the man’s pride but the barb she had cast at that moment had driven deeper. Staring into the fireplace she had cleaned so meticulously Ann watched the shadows of yesterday dance in its emptiness.

  Thomas Thorpe had drawn a vicious-sounding breath, emotions darting in rapid succession across his tight-drawn features while his eyes, never wide, had at that instant closed to mere slits, leaving no doubt: Thomas Thorpe cared only for Thomas Thorpe. He would do whatever it took to prevent any stigma marring his reputation as a caring religious God-fearing soul anxious only for the well-being of the community. So what of Alec’s well-being? Thomas Thorpe’s pale spite-filled eyes had said as clearly as ever words could that this was yet one more question which required no answer. To a man such as he, the welfare of a twelve-year-old was of no consequence and so she had not asked.

  ‘Be advised . . .’

  His words seemed to echo from the starkness of the fireplace, to slither across the room as they had slithered the evening before, to hiss again in her ears; the poison of a man refused as a lover, a man so enamoured of himself it seemed vengeance was the only thing that would assuage his damaged pride.

  ‘Be advised,’ she heard in the silence of her mind, ‘any accusation made against me will rebound upon your head. You will become the victim of what will be seen as baseless claims, a woman caught in depravity seeking to extricate herself by the devious method of shifting blame on to the shoulders of another. The people will not believe and Thomas Thorpe will not forget; so again be advised, leave the chapel and the town with a silent tongue.’

  He had turned on that last word but even as he opened a door on to the small space separating house from chapel she had said quietly, ‘I pity you, Mr Thorpe, the sewers of the town you profess to safeguard are sweeter than your mind; if you are the representative of God, the spokesman of the chapel congregation, I want no part of them and no part of the religion they follow.’

  As the door banged shut behind her unwelcome visitor Ann had felt tears of despair rise in her throat.

  The House of God and the house of man.

  Both had been denied her.

  Bailiffs sent by Thomas Thorpe had come to see her out. Ann glanced towards the door when she heard a loud rap. It was no person from any neighbouring house; they had come to accept her as one of their own, approaching her as they did neighbours of long standing by pushing open the scullery door and calling as they entered, ‘It be only me wench,’ followed up by a woman’s name. Apart from Thomas Thorpe collecting the weekly rental no man had visited. She had smiled at the answer given to her query about that; ‘Eh wench,’ Dolly Horton had said, ‘a man don’t go a doin’ o’ such, be there a need to call at folks’ ’ouse then that be left to the woman, men meet at their place o’ work and should aught need a sayin’ then it be said there.’

  A sharper second rap demanded attention and Ann rose to her feet. She had hoped Alec would have returned before they were evicted but like any young boy, promises to be home at a given time were lost on him once he was outdoors. But the house was to be vacated and even if Thomas Thorpe himself was at the door she would not ask to be allowed to wait inside one more minute. The chapel did not own the street; she would wait at the side of the road until Alec showed up.

  ‘I were a wonderin’ be you goin’ to answer of my knock.’

  Since she was expecting to see a bailiff probably accompanied by one, possibly two men, the sight of a short slight figure dressed entirely in black with a small bonnet on top of a severe grey bun surprised Ann.

  ‘I sees I don’t be what you reckoned to find standin’ at your door.’ The grey head swung side to side.

  ‘No, I . . . I was expecting . . .’

  ‘I knows who it be you was a waitin’ of.’

  How could the woman know? They had not met before, of that Ann was positive. Had it been otherwise she would surely have remembered; not so many people attended the chapel that she would not recognise one of them and certainly this woman was not an immediate neighbour. Taught from childhood it was rude to stare Ann glanced across the woman’s shoulder then with a brief smile invited her unexpected visitor to step inside.

  ‘I won’t be a doin’ of that thought I thanks you kindly.’ The head swung again, this time in vehement denial. ‘I won’t set no foot ’neath that roof nor any other to which them chapel folks gets theirselves, not so long as Thomas Thorpe be among ’em I won’t!’

  The very mention of the name made Ann quiver and it seemed from the look crossing the lined face that this woman experienced the same. But not surely from the same cause! Thorpe was a vile man but des
picable as he was he would not make advances to a woman so much older than himself.

  They were strangers to each other, the woman would not step inside the house; so who was she and why had she come here? Ann looked again at the figure standing resolutely beyond the open doorway. The lines on her face, her callused hands holding a worn shawl tight about her shoulders were not all due to age; as for so many in this town, life had shown this woman little kindness.

  Suddenly aware she had given no response to her caller’s forceful statement Ann apologised and enquired what she could do for the woman.

  ‘Ain’t what you can be doin’ for me brought me to this doorstep, no wench, it be more what Leah Marshall can do for you, allus supposin’ you be of a mind.’

  Be of a mind for what? Ann frowned. The appearance of the woman, her worn face and hands, her plain dark skirts, the shawl which had obviously served long and well, all pointed to a life of toil affording little reward and certainly seeing nothing left over for charity.

  ‘I knows what you be a thinkin’.’ The woman’s slightly stooped shoulders lifted in a shrug. ‘What can it be a perfect stranger thinks to offer? Well, though Leah Marshall be not known to y’self her be known to the folk of that chapel and to many in Wednesbury along of ’em. It be the way in this town as I ’spects it be in others, folks’ tongues wag an’ it be a bit o’ that waggin’ come to the ears of Leah Marshall, talk which says of you and a lad bein’ turned from this house, of bein’ put on to the streets for reason of the lad bein’ no blood relative. That be a reason I finds hard to accept but I be askin’ no other, all I be sayin’ is this: Leah Marshall’s house don’t be property of no church nor chapel, it don’t have no landlord to say who can or can’t bide beneath its roof. Small it be and holds naught grand in the way o’ furnishin’ but what it is belongs to Leah Marshall alone and should you and the lad care to lodge there then you be welcome.’

  A lodging . . . this woman was offering a place to stay. Relief swept through Ann, but the welcome offer raised questions. Why would she take two people she knew nothing of into her home?