Friendship's Bond

by Meg Hutchinson

  There was another way to make Leah Marshall pay, one he would hold in store.

  He turned off the lamp then walked out into the tiny hallway.

  A means of ensuring the woman pain no apology could ever alleviate, not that Thomas Thorpe would ever have any intention of apologising.

  The smile which had hovered on his lips deepened to a laugh in his throat.

  Opening the door, he stepped into the night.

  Thomas Thorpe would experience the sheer elation of telling Leah Marshall just how her beloved Deborah had died.

  Thomas Thorpe froze, with the key in the lock. There was something nearby, something which did not wish to be seen. Breath snagged in his throat. Or someone? There had been no meeting at the chapel nor was this an evening when Sarah Clews came to clean the house so there was no reason for any member of the community to be here. An animal? He listened for sound, rejecting the idea when none came. A dog or a cat would have moved again, yet there had been no second movement.

  He had been mistaken; it was no more than a trick of the mind. Those past few minutes, the thoughts he had enjoyed before leaving the study still had him a little unsettled.

  They had been very pleasurable, especially— A sound close by made him glance towards the hedge. Was that a mistake?

  Tension once more caught his breath as he stared harder into the line of the hedge. There it was again! A little further along branches swayed as from a sudden push, the movement sprinkling moonlight like silver sequins on to leaves night had painted black. However it was not that delicate moonlit ballet which held Thomas Thorpe transfixed but fear, cold and stark.

  It was no animal moved among those bushes. The metal of the key bit hard against the pressure of his fingers but he ignored the sting.

  No animal, so a person. But who? And why hide in the hedge? It seemed he rocked back on his heels when the answer came thudding into his brain.

  Sarah Clews! The stupid cow of a girl must have told of their affair, spoken of what took place in this house the evenings she came to clean. After all he had said! A blade of anger twisted inside him. How many times had he said it must remain hidden, that she must not speak of it to anyone until he said she might? With each telling he had coated the subterfuge with the sugary lie that their love was so special he would have them keep it to themselves a while longer. But the dolt of a girl had not kept it to herself.

  Love! The word snarled in his head. Sarah Clews was as much fool as she was whore to believe Thomas Thorpe in love with her.

  But was she the fool he thought? Had she after all seen through his lies? Had she guessed at the true reason why he had insisted she tell no one? Had she recognised that she simply served the purpose of satisfying his lust and so to make sure of him had revealed all?

  Stupid bitch! He swore silently. Sarah Clews was stupid as she was plain but her parents would not be so easily taken in, they would want wedding bells and that figure stepping from the shadowed hedge was Arthur Clews come to make certain they would ring.

  He had pretended the key had fallen from his fingers, had bent close to the ground as though retrieving it but instead his hand had closed over a sizeable stone bordering the strip of flower garden. The figure had continued to come towards him, the crunch of feet on the gravelly ground matching the grinding beat of his nerves, yet somehow he had controlled the urge to run, had forced himself to prolong the pretence of searching for the key. Then, when the figure was almost at his side, he had sprung to his feet, in the same instant swinging the stone hard against Arthur Clews’ head.

  Run! His mind had turned in wild circles as the figure had dropped to the ground. Then as the stone had fallen from his hand caution took the firmer voice. No, it had said quietly, no use to run, Clews knows who struck him, he’ll come after you.

  Come after you . . . come after you . . .

  It had rolled like thunder in his head and between each boom had come the thought, He can’t come for you if he’s dead.

  Like a douche of ice water it had steadied his panic, letting him think coldly and rationally.

  There would be no one who could point the finger of blame at Thomas Thorpe; he had not seen the man, he had not been at Chapel House that evening. He must remain calm, let that be the answer he would give to any enquiry made by the police.

  And to the chapel community?

  He smiled at the answer springing at once into his mind.

  Mr Clews had maybe gone to the house in order to discuss the job of erecting an extra kitchen shelf but seeing no light from the window he had realised Thorpe was not there. Then a sound had possibly caught his attention so he had made to investigate, and that was likely when an intruder had attacked and killed him.

  It was feasible, as was the next thought entering his mind.

  Should Mrs Clews try to press the same demand he would see her hailed as a liar, a woman so determined to conceal the misdeeds of a wanton daughter she had concocted a story she hoped would trap the one man compassionate enough to offer the girl marriage sooner than see her disgraced.

  He would not stand in the pulpit, he would not speak from before the altar table but sitting at the centre of the group, one with the people he served.

  He saw the picture in his mind, heard his own soft, halting, forgiving voice.

  With hands clasped together in his lap, his head lowered but not so much as to hide the pucker of distress furrowing his brow, he would whisper he would bring no charge against Ada Clews, that terrible though the lie was the girl’s predicament was worse still, that he would pray heaven forgive her sin and forgive that of her mother.

  Caught in the moment Thorpe’s smile broadened as he watched the brilliantly clear picture in his mind.

  Oh Lord forgive! Lord forgive!

  The low cry was consummate deception, treachery that laughed in his ears as would the rest when ‘heartbrokenly’ he would murmur seemingly to himself, was Ada Clews by way of accusing him regarding the girl’s licentious behaviour? Was she seeing in their caring lay preacher a man so charitable he would accept all blame? A man merciful enough to marry a girl who would otherwise be the object of shame?

  People who knew him – or rather who thought they knew him – would swallow every word. He wallowed in his own ingenuity. Ada Clews and her less than becoming daughter would have their allegation thrown back at them while Thomas Thorpe was applauded for the generosity of his forgiving, he—

  A low moan interrupted the illusion, a cry which when repeated louder shattered his fantasy. No one must know of his being here tonight.

  But Arthur Clews knew!

  Drawing one long breath he picked up the stone.

  Chapter 19

  She had tapped several times at the door, thinking at first Alec had overslept. They had talked together long into the night when she repeated again that it was not because of him they were leaving Leah’s house, but despite her assurance his demeanour as well as his own argument had indicated he believed otherwise.

  ‘I believe that is the very reason, Ann.’

  As she stood at the bedroom door words he had spoken the previous evening returned to her mind.

  ‘I also believe the same will happen wherever we might go together. I am a foreigner and as such cannot be accepted.’

  She had denied that, pointing to the fact Leah, Edward, Ezekial Turley and some of the people they had delivered dairy food to had accepted him. Besides, she had added with what she had hoped to be a convincing smile, you will find the people of Darlaston will not be so prejudiced. She had gone on talking quietly so as not to disturb Leah sleeping in the next room, talked of her childhood with her grandmother, how the folk there would remember her and make them both welcome. At that he had smiled and closed his eyes and she had gone to her own room praying earnestly while preparing for bed, imploring heaven it would be as she had said; yet even as sleep touched her eyes she had feared it would not.

  When a second slightly louder tap brought no response a fri
sson of alarm flicked at her senses. Perhaps those hours of discussion had overtired him; he had given himself hardly enough time to recuperate from that fever, perhaps he was ill again. She had opened the door then, calling his name, allowing a minute before stepping into the bedroom, in case he was dressing. But there had been no reply.

  Standing in Leah’s small yard Ann stared across the field dotted here and there with grazing cows, their brown hides gleaming polished mahogany against grass whose lush emerald hue shone with dewdrops glittering like a million diamonds.

  Busy coaxing the sleeping fire to a glow, setting the porridge pan over it, Leah had dismissed any cause for concern with the reminder that Alec liked to spend time with the horse, to brush and feed the animal before the start of the day’s work.

  ‘Leave the lad to his pleasure, it’s been days since he were out there so let him enjoy it while he can.’

  Leah’s words had sounded again in Ann’s mind. Ann had felt the heartache beneath the smile, the same sadness which had underlain last evening’s discussion in which Leah had declared it was to be Alec’s and her own choice that they left.

  But it was not by choice. Neither she nor Alec wished to go but for Leah’s own sake they must.

  Every second spent setting bowls, spoons and milk on to the table had seen her worry build until she had almost run from the room to call Alec to breakfast.

  She had seen at a glance he was not in the yard. The cows, having been milked, were drifting steadily from patch to patch of the meadow, the milk cart though standing ready beside the dairy had no horse harnessed to it, even Betsy and her piglets had seemed strangely quiet. She had stood waiting in the hope that he would suddenly dart into view then with a flick of alarm she had begun to run.

  She had gone to the stable, knowing as did Leah the boy’s affection for the horse; it was there he would spend time when feeling particularly down, talking to the animal as though it understood. She understood. In an instant Ann was back in St Petersburg, in her father’s drab little house. Drawn back to her own unhappiness Ann seemed to watch again the silent figure sitting opposite a young woman at the dining table of a poorly lit room, the fire in a stone grate barely alive; watched as the man ate then rose and left without a glance at his companion. Her father had been in his own kind of hell. Ann stifled a sob. But she too had walked its dark halls, known the misery of loneliness, of being unwanted by the one who should have loved her most. That had been heartbreaking but she had hoped her father would eventually ‘see’ his child, talk with her, allow her to be the daughter she so wanted to be; with his death hope had also died and in place of heartbreak had come utter desolation, and with it a fear of the unknown, the harrowing distress of being entirely alone in a country whose language you could neither speak nor understand. The assurance of coming home to the comfort of a loving grandmother had been her mainstay, the one beacon in the gloom of misery: yet even that had been snatched away, leaving her feeling empty inside.

  Was that how Alec felt? Was he feeling empty, isolated from all he had known, so desperate to find his own family again he had run away?

  I tried, Alec, I tried to be a sister to you. Ann’s cry was silent on her lips; friendship could not replace love of a family.

  Yet she had grown to love the boy whose hand she had clung to during that terrifying attack by armed horsemen, the boy she had held close so many times during the journey to England, and though she knew he held regard for her she recognised that deeper feeling which must be drawing him home.

  ‘Be the lad there in the stable?’

  Leah came from the dairy with a pail of whey in her hand. She frowned at the look she saw on Ann’s face as she walked back to the yard, a shake of the head her answer.

  ‘Don’t be like him to go leavin’ the house wi’out a word.’

  Leah shifted the pail to the other hand. ‘Like as not I’ll find him chattin’ away to Betsy an’ her brood when I teks this along to the pig pen; he’ll be sayin’ of his goodbyes to the place. I knows cos . . .’ she breathed a quick deep breath, ‘cos that were what my own two lads done afore leavin’ for the Army.’

  Watching the woman walk across the yard, dark skirts almost brushing the ground, button boots crunching the pitted surface, her body bent to one side beneath the weight of the heavy pail, Ann felt her own heart trip.

  That Leah Marshall had genuine affection for Alec was beyond question. It showed in her face when she looked at him, in her every action towards him. Had he come to mean the same to her as did Edward Langley? Was he, like Edward, helping ease the hurt of losing her own children?

  If only she had known! If she could have guessed the bond which would form then she and Alec would not have come to live in this house, to bring its owner fresh grief.

  Alec had not returned to the house. Ann stared dejectedly across the expanse of open heath. Her body felt like she had walked for a lifetime, her feet and legs aching from the hours of searching streets and alleys, her throat dry from the enquiries made of everyone who would stop and speak with her. Not one of the few said they had seen a boy answering Alec’s description.

  She had refused Leah’s suggestion, made after an hour of waiting for Alec to return, that they go search for him together. Leah needed to look to the dairy; cheese and butter did not make themselves and though maybe not so many folk would be visited by the delivery cart there were some that would, people like Ezekial Turley. He had been sorry to hear of Alec’s disappearance and had even gone so far as to express the same on hearing that she and the boy planned to depart from Wednesbury.

  ‘Fools!’ The old man had spat his contempt. ‘They all be no more’n fools thinkin’ as they does; why even a body wi’ no eyes could see that lad be no threat, not to nobody he don’t!’

  Not foolish, only afraid. As they had every right to be. Leah had talked of those dreadful Zeppelins, of the fear which had grabbed people by the throat, mounting to terror as one after the other bombs had dropped. Then with the raid over and the giant aircraft gone a silence had seemed to settle, a silence the last fall of brickwork, the crackle of flames had not penetrated. Shock, utter and terrible, had lain like a pall over the streets until . . . Leah had hesitated as though to speak more of that awful evening was too much. But after a few moments she had gone on to say that the cries of Jemima Smith finding her family lying dead among the heap of rubble which only minutes before had been their home, cries echoed again and again as others discovered their home destroyed, their loved ones killed were more freezing to the blood than even the thud of bombs. But fear had not ended with the departure of that Zeppelin for at around midnight a second one had passed over the town dropping more bombs.

  ‘There be no understandin’ of it,’ Leah had repeated. ‘That there Kaiser be a relative of our own King, it ain’t like he be out and out foreign; ehh! There be no trustin’ of some folk.’

  Alec too had listened to Leah’s account of those raids and in his mind must have concluded foreigners were not to be trusted.

  ‘I am a foreigner and as such cannot be accepted.’

  That was what he had said last night and that was why he had left by himself.

  ‘That can’t be true of everywhere, we would have found a place!’

  Ann’s sharp cry sent a flurry of crows winging into the air cawing loudly and censoriously, black wings flapping like the dark cloaks of some approaching menace. Beneath the clamour Ann whispered, ‘Where are you Alec . . . where are you?’

  ‘It be good of you to come lad, I knows how busy you be seein’ to your own place.’

  ‘Never too busy to come to see you.’ Edward Langley watched the woman pouring tea into stout earthenware cups, cups which reflected her character. Leah Marshall had always been strong-minded but with that came integrity and honesty; she would never call a teaspoon a shovel just to have something suit her purpose.

  ‘I hear you made the rounds yourself this morning.’

  ‘Then you d’ain’t hear no lie.’
Leah handed a jug of fresh milk across the table. ‘It were best I took the cart meself, that way I got to hear first-hand any comment Jinny Jinks and others wi’ the same judgement might have to say.’

  ‘And did they have anything to say?’

  Cup halfway to her mouth Leah smiled grimly. ‘Well it certainly weren’t “thank you”, not from some for they got naught from the cart; but sayin’ naught to my face don’t mean them women be lost for words the minute my back were turned. It be my bet their tongues’d be red hot afore I got back here.’

  Gossip was something Leah would pay little thought to but her livelihood was something she couldn’t afford to ignore. Edward stirred milk into his cup while thoughts which had occupied his mind while walking here from Hill Rise recurred. Leah was steadfast in her sense of fair play and though that was admirable it could not be allowed to deprive her of a living; yet – he sighed mentally try – telling her that and he could find himself turfed out of the house with his ears ringing.

  ‘I looked in on Betsy as I came up.’ Tact took him on an indirect route. ‘She’s looking to her young ones well enough; they’ll soon be of a size with their mother.’

  ‘Betsy be a good sow,’ Leah agreed, ‘her litters proves that, they be allowed a fair share of the whey I pours into the trough.’

  ‘Speaking of which I wouldn’t mind a few minutes’ ride on that queedle.’

  Leah placed cups beside the ancient brown teapot on her equally aged wooden tray, staring down at it as she did so. Edward Langley had not walked here simply to take the evening air nor because he fancied queedling cheese curds; he had come out of concern for her, concern no doubt aroused by hearing from his own customers the fact of Leah Marshall’s reduced sales. In that case there was no use in beating around the bush, not that she indulged in that practice at the best of times, so better to say what had to be said. Leah followed her own advice saying determinedly: