A matter which should have been settled already, as easily dealt with as Deborah Marshall. Now it was too late.
‘I thought as ’ow if I come now I’d catch you in.’
Catch him! That had been the aim all along; the first element of shock giving way to cold anger Thorpe had the overriding desire to strike the face regarding him beneath its dusty bonnet.
‘Y’ see we reckoned as ’ow you wouldn’t want this talked on along of the chapel, it not rightly bein’ chapel business.’
Perhaps not. But you will make sure everyone who worships there and many who don’t will be treated to every last detail, each one painted with lurid colours.
‘I’ve teken the liberty of callin’ to the ’ouse rather than talk along of the street.’
With ears pressed to doors pulled slightly ajar on each side, talking here would be just as public as on the street. Reluctantly Thorpe stood back from the door saying through tight lips, ‘Please come in, Mrs Clews.’
He would offer no tea nor ask her to sit down; courtesy had been stretched far enough. Planting himself before the fireplace, as far away from his guest as the small living room would allow, Thorpe watched the quick glances dart in every direction. Was she summing up the home her daughter would be moving into? That had been this woman’s plan from the outset. Allowing the daughter to take over the cleaning of Chapel House, the girl’s eagerness to lie with him, had been a scheme cooked up with one purpose in mind, to trap him into marriage. Well, there was no ring on Sarah Clews’ finger yet.
Hiding the thought behind a forced smile he asked, ‘What can I do for you?’
‘It be like this.’ Ada Clews glanced at a chair but receiving no invitation went on, ‘I’ve been a talkin’ . . .’
She had been talking . . . to whom? Fury flicked darts of ice along every vein but Thorpe maintained the false smile.
‘That is we been a talkin’,’ Ada continued, ‘it were at the cemetery – you knows all of we teks what flowers we can afford on Sunday afternoons and if pennies don’t stretch to that we goes along anyway to tend the graves of family already passed on – well like I says as we was leavin’ we got to talkin’ about the carry-on between some of we women an’ Leah Marshall.’
She was not here to discuss the affair of her daughter!
He turned his back, pretending to clear a cough rising in his throat, then with his handkerchief held to his mouth to disguise a surging sense of release, faced the woman still talking on.
‘Well I tells you Mr Thorpe, there got to be quite a bit of argy-bargy, some sayin’ it be right not to buy her stuff an’ others sayin’ it were daft to be refusin’ of it seein’ how ’ard times be.’
Why bring this to him, to his house? Now that the fear of retribution had eased, his anger began to return.
‘Mrs Clews,’ he glanced at the clock, ‘I really don’t see . . .’
‘D’ain’t none of we deny it be ’ard,’ Ada ploughed on ignoring the blatant glance at his clock, ‘we all ’as a job findin’ enough to feed a family but as Jinny Jinks reminded, that lad livin’ along of Leah Marshall is like to be a spy.’
‘Mrs Clews . . . Ada, this has all been gone over—’
‘Ar it ’as!’ Ada interrupted. ‘But not the way Ezekial tells it.’
Ezekial Turley – that man again! Thorpe’s irritation grew. It would be better all round should that man meet with the same accident as had befallen the one who had come to Chapel House.
‘Ezekial reckons that lad be no more a spy than be you or me, reckons he don’t be no German neither. We asked ’ow he come by that,’ Ada answered the frown before it became a question, ‘he said it were summat the lad said. Ezekial ’ad gone across to Leah’s place to collect his quart of milk as usual and meetin’ the lad comin’ from the stable stopped to chat. That were when that young ’un said what he said.’
I don’t care what he said, I just want you out of my house!
Ada correctly interpreted the sharp disgruntled sniff. Her glance dropped to the table covered with turkey-red chenille cloth, a luxury she could never hope to afford. Thomas Thorpe was not happy with her being here but she wasn’t going to be pushed off before relating all of what had passed on that walk back from the cemetery.
‘Conversation ’ad come around to the discussing of the war,’ Ada’s head lifted determinedly, ‘Ezekial sayin’ nothin’ comes of fightin’ ’cept more fightin’; the lad nodded, answerin’, “War is never good, Little Father, it robs both parties of life and love.” It were them words “little father”, Ezekial said, of all the places in the world the Army took him he’d only ever ’eard that spoken in the Crimea by Russian soldiers showing respect for an officer. Seems like so many of ’is kind Ezekial had run from a ’ome with too many mouths to feed then lied about his years so as to join the Army; he’d been no more than thirteen when he went to the Crimea as a boy in the Regiment of Foot. It had been durin’ the battle of Kinburn, in all the smoke and noise of the fighting. He got confused and on bein’ sent by his sergeant to fetch a bucket of water, lost his way and was captured along of some river bank; he were bein’ clouted by his captor when along comes an officer covered in medals who after bein’ told of what were goin’ on turns to Ezekial and says in plain English, ‘‘Soldiers of the Little Father do not fight against children; his Imperial Majesty the Tsar would wish you to be returned safely to your regiment. Perhaps you will convey the compliments of General Mikhail Mikhailevitch to Colonel Halys who is Little Father to that regiment.’’ That says Ezekial be proof to him the lad livin’ along of Leah’s be more likely to come from Russia than from Germany and with them countries at war wi’ one another then that lad won’t go a spyin’ for Germany.’
‘Mr Turley’s opinion is a sensible one.’
Though you yourself don’t be inclined to it! Ada noted the curtness of the reply but kept the observation to herself saying instead, ‘Everybody thought as much, even Jinny Jinks and meself agreein’ wi’ Ezekial there be no more ill feelin’ towards, Leah, that we should all be as we was a buyin’ of her dairy.’
The woman had said nothing which could not have been aired in the street or even in the chapel. Much of the same had been said there already so why bring it here? Thorpe’s mind raced. Had she truly come to talk of that stupid argument or was it simply bluff, was she lulling him into a false sense of security before finally delivering her blow? He looked at the woman watching him with what might almost be a smile. Knowing he had to answer, he pushed the words through stiff lips.
‘It is good to hear the dispute is ended and things are settled.’
‘Ar well,’ Ada’s dull eyes glinted, ‘don’t everythin’ be settled . . .’
It wasn’t almost a smile, it was the grin of a cobra poised to strike! Hairs on the back of Thorpe’s neck stood on end as the woman paused. He could strike her down with the poker, kill her, finish it here and now then vow she had struck him first and in the struggle to take the poker from her it had struck her on the temple; and the reason for her attack? Her misguided and wrongful accusation of abuse of her daughter.
‘Y’ see . . .’
He clenched his fingers as though already gripping the fire iron. ‘It be this way, Mr Thorpe, we all of us women be of the same mind regardin’ tekin’ custom back to Leah but ain’t not one of we be of a mind to go a’ tellin’ her so and that be what brings me to your door. I be to ask would you talk along of Leah Marshall?’
Chapter 25
‘How long have you been here?’
Edward frowned at the boy standing beside the horse, one hand stroking its shoulder, then before he could reply went on, ‘Do you have any idea the worry you’ve caused going off like that!’
‘I’m sorry Edward.’ Alec Romney’s blue-grey eyes clouded.
‘I should think you are sorry. What in the world made you do such a thing!’
Alec took a moment to answer. ‘You have heard what the people of the town say of me: I am a foreigner an
d so cannot be trusted.’
‘That’s just stupid tittle-tattle, it will have been forgotten in a month.’
His fingers suddenly stilled, his gaze rested on the smooth body of the horse. Alec seemed to enter a different world, one which reflected unhappiness on his young face.
‘No Edward,’ he said quietly, ‘what you call tittle-tattle does not always fade so readily. It can live and grow, spreading its poison, scarring minds and breaking hearts.’
Edward heard the catch of a stifled sob and as the boy’s glance lifted again saw in a beam of setting sun the sheen of tears glint in those wide honest eyes.
Alec emerged from a world only he knew. ‘Believe me Edward,’ he smiled painfully, ‘I know . . . I have seen the harm gossip can do, the pain it can inflict, and since coming here to Wednesbury I have seen it again; I have seen the sadness it still brings to Ann’s face, the harm it is doing to the livelihood of Grandmother Leah, the wretchedness it is placing in hearts filled only with kindness. Try to understand, I could not let that continue.’
What had happened in this young lad’s life, what had caused the grief lying deep in his eyes? Edward chose his words carefully. ‘I do understand, Alec,’ he smiled briefly, ‘I understand you did not want to be the cause of contention, that it was for the sake of Leah and Ann, to give them some measure of peace, but wouldn’t it have been kinder to tell them before leaving?’
Alec smiled fleetingly then turned again to the horse, riffling its mane through widespread fingers. ‘Kinder, Edward, for whom? For Grandmother Leah maybe, but not I think for Ann. She would have insisted on leaving with me but that could have seen the whole thing start over again; no matter where we went she could have been ostracised, rejected for consorting with a foreigner, for being with me. No Edward, telling Ann of what I planned would not have been a kindness.’
An old head on young shoulders! Appreciation welled in Edward. The lad might have acted wrongly but it had been done for all the right reasons.
‘I have only one fear,’ Alec was speaking again, ‘it is that Ann sees my going as a renunciation of our friendship, and all that we have come to mean to each other.’
‘Then you need have no fear!’ The swift return came sharper than intended. Edward paused, catching hold of his emotions before adding, ‘I hold Ann Spencer to be a better judge of character. It’s my belief she would see your going for what it is, a sincere and very loving act of friendship.’
‘Would you tell her so? Would you tell her and Grandmother Leah I left only out of love for them?’
Grandmother Leah! Edward let the phrase echo in his mind. There had been no affectation in the term, just a quiet affirmation of love and respect. Listening to his own thoughts Edward stepped across to the stall, the horse immediately nuzzling his hand. Should he say that Ann had spent an entire day searching town and heath, tell of Leah’s fainting which was probably helped along by worry over his safety? Edward dismissed the thought. The lad had likely had all he could take for now.
‘If that is the way you want it, then I’ll tell them though I think they would much rather hear it from you.’
Glancing at the man who too had become a friend Alec shook his head. ‘The break is made, Edward, that is the way it must remain. It was wrong of me to come here, to sleep in your barn without obtaining permission.’
‘You slept all night in the barn? Why not come to the house?’
‘To be seen there would have brought the same troubles to you, the people who refused Grandmother Leah’s products would refuse yours. I meant to be gone by daybreak but when I woke you were in the yard. I didn’t want you to know I was here so I decided to hide in the hayloft until it got dark. That way I would not be seen leaving but –’ he patted the horse’s neck – ‘I stayed too long talking with Jess, telling him how much he would like Vanka. Vanka is my donkey, Father bought him when he got too old to perform any more in Cinizelli’s circus. The tricks he learned there delighted us, especially that of putting his nose into pockets. My sister Tasi would put sugar lumps and sweets in the pocket of her coat then after petting Vanka a while would turn to leave. That was when Vanka would wave his head up and down showing the treats “stolen” from Tasi.’
Seeming of a sudden to realise where he was, he said quickly, ‘I’m sorry I disturbed your evening Edward.’
‘Hold on.’ Edward caught a sleeve as Alec brushed past. ‘You are not going anywhere.’
‘I have to.’
‘No, no you don’t have to.’ Edward clung on. ‘You have no idea of the danger – one wrong step on that heath could find you at the bottom of a mine shaft, or should I say you might never be found. It isn’t even known how many there are or where they may be. It would be wiser to stay the night and then if you still feel you have to leave I won’t stand in your way, but one thing I ask, let me tell Leah and Ann you are safe, spare them another night of worry.’
‘I be to ask would you talk along of Leah Marshall.’
Thomas Thorpe secured the white clerical collar about his neck and slowly fastened the row of buttons running the length of a long black gown, his fingers lingering on each one from sheer pleasure.
He had been on the verge of refusing Ada Clews’ request. But then a thought had struck him. Going to Leah Marshall’s place would provide him with an unexpected treat.
He smiled at himself in the mahogany-framed cheval mirror which his mother had so prized as he smoothed the sleeves of the gown meticulously about the wrists.
Just at the moment of telling the woman to go, he had realised Leah Marshall would not be the only woman in that house; there would be another one also, who a few hours hence would be giving herself to him: Ann Spencer.
To see the fear leap to her eyes, fear of what she knew she could not avoid if she wished to see the boy again, had appealed. He would watch her glance at the older woman without uttering a single word asking for help; Ann Spencer would know that for her there was no going back.
He took a folded white cloth from where he had placed it with almost reverential care on the foot of his bed and draped it about his shoulders, gently shaking the ends until the fringes dropped neatly into place.
Should he wear this to Chapel House, allow Ann Spencer to be the first to see him so dressed? Perhaps she could be granted the privilege, perhaps he could be gracious, permit her the knowledge it was not just plain Thomas Thorpe who stripped and raped her but Reverend Minister Thomas Thorpe.
The idea was titillating. He raised an arm in the attitude of blessing. ‘Reverend Minister’, he smiled at the reflection silently repeating the words exulting loud on his tongue. Then caution prevailed. To give Ann Spencer the honour of being first to witness him in his ministerial robes might be to rob himself of the longed-for gratification of that first appearance in the chapel. He could not be one hundred per cent certain she would not reveal the secret he wished to keep to himself a while longer, unless . . . he lowered the raised arm in a slow regulated sweep, smiling at the man in the mirror . . . unless once again he borrowed Enoch Phillips’ pony and trap.
She had not spoken with Leah. Ann sat on a bench in the park and stared unseeingly at the empty bandstand. She had taken the coward’s way out, telling herself it would be less distressing for the woman if she were not called upon to say goodbye. But that had been a lie, to salve her own conscience. She had waited in that upstairs room until she had seen Leah go for her usual afternoon visit to the cow pasture. She would most likely be there for an hour chatting to each animal like it was a personal friend. Ann’s insides twisted. Those cows proved truer friends to Leah than ever she herself had. She had watched the dark skirts move deeper into the field, the figure become gradually lost among much the larger shapes of the animals, watched until she was sure any backward glance of Leah’s at the house would not show her leaving it.
She had forced herself to walk with head held high, giving no word to the women glancing openly at her as she passed by. They had murmured to one ano
ther, murmured and nodded as she crossed the market square stopping at none of its stalls, watching as she turned left along Spring Head no doubt happy in the thought the town might well be seeing the last of her.
And they would. In the very moment Thomas Thorpe’s evil was done she would take Alec and they would run and not stop until they dropped from exhaustion.
‘Sorry Miss . . . Miss . . .’
An apologetic voice was speaking as though from a distance. Ann looked at the man standing a few feet from the bench.
He spoke again, raising a finger to his smartly peaked cap. ‘The park closes at eight, I be ’avin’ to ask you to vacate the grounds.’
Still somewhat bemused, Ann stared at the green-uniformed man now taking a large silver watch from a pocket of his coat.
‘It be that time now, miss.’ He glanced at the watch, ‘There y’be, what did I tell you, eight o’clock it is, church clock don’t never be wrong.’
Led by the nod of the man’s head Ann turned in the direction of the parish church of St Bartholomew, its spire now ebony dark against a sky veiled in the deep grey of late evening.
‘Five, six, seven, eight,’ he counted the strokes, his glance on the watch. Then returning it with a triumphal flourish to his pocket he went on, ‘Church and watch they keeps time together, ain’t one fails the other and both now says eight. And seeing that be the time the park gates needs be closed I ’ave to ask you to leave.’
The market square was empty of shoppers, its stalls closed. ‘Not like times afore this war started, times was then the market would be busy ’til gone eleven at night, but now wi’ food short and folk not ’avin’ money enough to pay prices some be askin’ then it don’t be wondered at the stalls and shops be closin’ sooner.’
Leah’s sad words came to her as Ann walked on into Union Street, its shopfronts dark and shuttered, her footsteps echoing eerily along its silent length.
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