The Bobbin Girls

by Freda Lightfoot

  He followed her into the hut and it had never seemed more cramped. ‘Best if you wait outside. There isn’t room to swing a cat in here,’ she said, trying to disguise her anxiety with a laugh, but it only came out forced and brittle.

  ‘I can see that.’ He eyed the rumpled bed that filled most of the space. Alena expected him to say how he could have offered her so much more, but he simply smiled, and said nothing.

  They sat and drank their tea on the fallen log, though it was cool outside in the morning sunshine. Alena, struggling to suppress a shiver in case he should think she was nervous, offered him a slice of toast or Lizzie’s cake, anything to cover this increasing awkwardness.

  ‘It’s Rob I’ve come to see, in point of fact, he said, finally answering her unspoken question. ‘I’ve news of his father.’

  For some reason she didn’t want him to know that Rob was away, or that she’d no idea when he would be back, so she volunteered to pass on the message. Mickey bluntly and concisely related how James Hollinthwaite had started on the felling. ‘I took over the campaign when Sandra left, you know.’

  ‘Yes, Ma told me.’

  ‘Not that anyone was interested in it then. But now even his own bobbin workers are up in arms, willing to risk their livelihoods to fight him. There’s dozens of ‘em in the forest with clubs, even air-rifles. There’ll be a riot if something isn’t done.’ He cast her a sideways glance, noting the shocked expression on her face and wondering if he’d overdone it. ‘But then, the woodsmen he’s hired have started in the most scenic place.’

  ‘Where?’ She hardly dared ask.

  ‘That ancient oak in Low Birk Coppice. Remember it?’

  How could she ever forget? The old oak. Their oak. James Hollinthwaite had chosen it deliberately as revenge against them for their elopement. Having imparted his devastating news Mickey suddenly seemed anxious to take his leave. ‘You’ll tell Rob when he gets home, will you? Only we’re hoping he can talk some sense into his father.’ He set down the cup, thanked her for the tea and turned to go.

  Alena found her voice at last. ‘When? When will the oak be felled?’

  He frowned, looking anxiously over his shoulder, and she wondered if he was perhaps nervous of meeting Rob, and almost found the thought amusing. ‘Soon. Tomorrow, the day after, perhaps even this very afternoon. I’m not sure, but it’s vital young Hollinthwaite does what he can to stop it or his father will go through the entire woodland like a knife through butter.’

  ‘But what can Rob do?’

  Mickey could feel himself growing impatient. Yet he smiled, for he knew it was important to hold her confidence. ‘He’s Hollinthwaite’s son, for Christ’s sake. He must still have some influence. No one else has.’ Then slicking back his hair in that familiar gesture she knew so well, he added in a softer voice, ‘You’re looking well, Alena.’ Her skin was pale silk against the fire of her hair and his fingers itched to stroke it.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘But this isn’t the place for you, not with winter coming on. What is that man thinking of to keep you here?’ He took a step towards her.

  ‘I’m very well, thank you. I’m sorry, Mickey - for the mess.’ He could see the soft rise and fall of her breast with her quickened breathing. Did he still excite her? He should have made her his years ago. He attempted a shrug. ‘That’s life, as they say. If you ever need help...’ He almost reached for her then but stopped himself in time. It was too soon. He must wait a little longer. After a moment’s hesitation, he thrust his hands deep in his pockets, pushed back his shoulders, jerked his chin by way of farewell and swung away, vanishing into the forest from whence he had come.

  It took some time but in the end Alena persuaded Rob that he must go. He insisted on hearing, word for word, what Mickey had said, and what she had said to him; how she had felt when she saw him, whether he had commented on their elopement. Alena finally lost patience, not in the mood today for playing on his jealousy.

  ‘What does it matter? We have to stop James from destroying Ellersgarth Woods and Low Birk Coppice.’

  ‘He won’t listen to me.’

  ‘We must make him listen! We have to save our lovely old tree, and all the other trees that are neither dead nor dying. He can’t be allowed to get away with this.’

  ‘Then I shall go and try, one last time, to reason with him. But you must stay here.’ When she made to protest, he silenced her with the touch of one finger. ‘No, Alena. If there’s to be trouble, as there was the last time he attempted this, I want you safely here, not in the midst of a riot. So for once, be a good girl and do as you’re told.’

  It was only after he had gone, sweeping the undergrowth aside and striding away like a young Lochinvar, that she realised her reason for not disagreeing had been the baby growing inside her, and she hadn’t even had time to tell him.

  James knew he had lost the fight to separate his son from Alena Townsen, and to turn him into the kind of man he might admire, just as he had failed in the unequal task of moulding his wife into a woman who would give him the respect and admiration he deserved. He’d no intention of surrendering his ambitions as well. A man found evidence of his worth in his possessions. That had ever been James’s creed and he’d no intention of changing it now. He was destined to be rich, and would not tolerate any other course, certainly not one forced upon him by the rabble before him.

  The men carried clubs and sticks, faces grimly set, and some of the women had even climbed up into the branches of the old oak, stubbornly refusing to budge. He knew them all. Jack Turner from The Stag; Arthur, who’d been a useless foreman; the Townsen brothers, of course; Bill Lindale, his own manager for God’s sake, heading a crew of sour-looking individuals. Annie Cockcroft, Mary Jane Linklater and Minnie Hodgson and their cronies. Dolly, who’d shared a whisky and other delights with him, her stupid mother, Maggie Sutton. Even Mrs Rigg in her floral pinny. The stand-off had lasted a day and a night and James was sick of it. He hated them all, every one.

  ‘Get back!’ he shouted, waving his gun with a wild abandon that alarmed even his own woodsmen who stood behind him, axes poised ready to begin. ‘Get out of that oak! I’ll have it toppled with you all in it, if necessary. Damned if I won’t.’ Even as he spoke other determined villagers were climbing trees. The situation was getting rapidly out of hand. As always it was Lindale who attempted to placate him and cool the situation.

  ‘Now then, Mr Hollinthwaite, let’s keep cool, shall we? It’ll do none of us any good if heads get broken.’

  ‘Damn you, yours will be the first I’ll break, if you don’t get those idiots out of my trees.’ James swung round and barked instructions to the waiting woodsmen. ‘We’ve wasted enough time, get on with it. Fell any tree you like. It doesn’t matter a damn if there’s someone in it. Let the blasted fools fall with it.’

  ‘We can’t be held responsible for any accident,’ the ganger protested, not liking the way things were going at all, for all his men were being well paid.

  ‘I haven’t asked you to be. Get on with it!’

  A roar went up from the crowd, filling the copse, sending any remaining birds or animals that had not already gone, fleeing. Several men surged forward and might have grabbed James, had he not once more brandished his gun. They knew he could kill a stag at fifty paces with one shot. No one was taking any chances. They eased back, sweating, conversing in angry whispers, and the stink of fear pervaded the woodland, souring the beautiful morning.

  The woodsmen pressed forward, lifting their axes in readiness for striking the tree. One, young and eager and determined to earn the money he’d been promised, attacked a slender ash with sharp steady strokes. Everyone watched, appalled, as he struck it time after time, biting into the sweet white wood. The tree shook as if it flinched with pain.

  ‘Father.’ The soft voice seemed to cut through the hubbub of screams and curses, the sounds of cutting and the angry shouts. A hush fell, axes froze, and all eyes turned to Rob. ‘Can we t
alk?’

  James Hollinthwaite looked upon his son with the same contempt he showed for the villagers. ‘It’s too late for talking, Robert. It’s time for action. I need these trees to come down. Get out of my way.’

  ‘I think not.’ Rob walked over to the ganger and, with a smile of recognition, lifted the axe from his hands. ‘Hello, Joe. Good to see you again. I realise work is hard to come by but I’d rather you didn’t find it here, if it’s all the same to you. These trees are old friends of mine. I’m sure my father will compensate you for your wasted time this morning. He’ll consider it cheap at the price, to have me home again. Isn’t that so, Father?’

  A gasp rippled through the crowd as the bargain became clear. No one could fail to understand. Rob Hollinthwaite who, above everything else, excepting of course his love for Alena, valued his freedom most and had planned his life accordingly, was offering to give it all up in order to save this section of the forest. The silence following his statement was now so acute, not even a bird dared to sing.

  But James didn’t seem to be listening. In a sudden paroxysm of fury, he snatched the axe from Rob’s hand and attacked the half-felled ash with demented strokes. It creaked and groaned, swayed and rocked, then as it began to fall he swung round to stride defiantly back to his son to show him what he had done. ‘There’s the first. Your blasted oak will be next. One by one I’ll take down this whole bloody forest.’

  ‘Look out! The cry went up a fraction too late. James hadn’t stepped far enough away from the ash and as Rob rushed to pull him from its path, its topmost branches hit them both, pinning them to the ground.

  The exuberant song of a mistle-thrush filled the air as Alena stripped the brash and bark from the poles. These would be used to build the shelter they needed, under which they could work, out of the wet and windy weather. She remembered how once her hands had been too soft to work with wood. Now they were strong and capable, as she was. There was nothing she and Rob couldn’t achieve, if they set their minds to it. Most of all, a deep and lasting happiness, so long as they were together. And inside she nursed her secret, one she ached to tell him and would, the moment he returned.

  Alena felt that she too should sing as happily as the thrush, but was too worried about Rob. Would he quarrel with his father and come back feeling even more rejected? She couldn’t imagine James Hollinthwaite giving in, but he must see reason in the end. He couldn’t just walk rough-shod over everyone else’s wishes. He surely didn’t have that right, land owner or no.

  ‘I knew you’d send him off on his own so we could be alone.’

  The voice, coming out of the thicket behind her, made her jump and she dropped the pole she was stripping to swing about and gaze at him transfixed.

  ‘Mickey? What are you doing back here? I thought you’d be helping Rob and the villagers fight Hollinthwaite.’ She found herself backing away as he approached, and when he rested his hands upon her shoulders, she flinched.

  ‘I was too slow for you, wasn’t I? Too respectful. I expect you mocked me for not proving my manhood. I should have made you mine years ago, then you would never have left me. I certainly wanted to. You are very beautiful, Alena.’ His hands were smoothing her arms, sliding over her breasts, and she was fighting down furious sobs of panic, slapping at him in a desperate bid to free herself, but his hands seemed to be everywhere, clinging to her like limpets.

  ‘Stop it, Mickey. What the hell are you doing? Let me go. Have you gone mad? Take your hands off me.’

  She held up her own hands for a moment, then stood perfectly still, as she had once seen a rabbit do to escape the clutches of a weasel, hoping and praying that he would be satisfied with the fright he had given her and let her go.

  He stroked her tousled hair away from her face. ‘Can you imagine how foolish I felt standing at that altar? I do so hate to be made a fool of, Alena.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that to happen.’

  ‘But it did happen.’

  She struggled to breathe normally and keep her voice even. ‘I did my utmost to convince you it was over, to save you from such a humiliation. But you wouldn’t listen to me. You couldn’t seem to understand that I’d put an end to our engagement. I’m sorry I hurt you, Mickey, but I didn’t have any choice. I love Rob.’

  He leaned his body full against hers, pinning her to the tree, and the hardness of him filled her with terror. Her mouth too dry to speak Alena made no protest as he stroked her cheek. Then he began to slowly unfasten the buttons of her blouse, his eyes never leaving hers, as if challenging her to resist. She made no protest, aware that would only add to his excitement.

  This Mickey was not the one who’d joked and had fun with her, the one she had agreed to marry. He seemed so different that Alena wondered if she’d ever really known him. Perhaps his entire behaviour towards her had been skilfully planned and engineered, his cunning as foxy as his rust brown eyes. While she’d been foolishly flattered by his determination to have her. Was he still? The thought brought fresh fear and she felt herself start to shake.

  You imagine that you still love him,’ he was carefully explaining. ‘But that was only nostalgia for the past. You’re not a young child now, with a fancy for the boy next door.’ His smile widened, though his grip did not slacken one bit. ‘He isn’t the man for you, Alena. You know he isn’t. You can’t be happy living in a mud hut with that soft idiot.’

  He was upon her before she realised what was happening, hands squeezing her breasts, ripping the fabric of her blouse. She would have screamed were it not for the suffocation of his mouth fastened over hers. Fear rose like bile in her throat as his tongue grazed her teeth, and a terrible helplessness swamped her. She hadn’t realised how strong he was, for all he was small and wiry. She gasped out loud with relief when he lifted his head and smiled his puckish smile. Then before she had time to think, he wrapped his arms about her and half dragged, half carried her into the hut. Then she was screaming till her lungs ached, but this time there was no breaking free. This time his arms were tight around her like a vice. She knew she could do nothing.

  ‘Is this how you wanted it? In the rough and tumble of a straw bed? If I’d known, I’d’ve taken you years ago, in the open fields. I wanted it to be special for you, for us. I wanted you to come a virgin to my bed. Are you still a virgin? I hope so. I doubt that whey-faced bastard has proved his manhood yet.’ He put his mouth so close to hers that she could taste his breath. ‘Didn’t I explain to you, very carefully, that you’re my woman, and always will be? Now I mean to prove it to you.’

  ‘I’m not your woman, Mickey Roscoe. I’m not anybody’s woman but my own.’ Alena fought but Mickey tightened his grip, holding her easily.

  ‘You know you like me to tell you what to do.’

  ‘No, I don’t!’ She screamed at him to let her go, but he only laughed.

  ‘Now you’re letting Rob Hollinthwaite tell you what to do, and I don’t like that, Alena. I really don’t like that one bit.’

  ‘At least Rob listens when I express an opinion. You never have listened to anything I’ve said, in all the years I’ve known you.’

  ‘I’ve told you, you do as I say. You know you like to.’

  She gave him a hard shove to push him away. ‘Not any more. It was stupid of me, and all because of my misery over losing Rob. In future I shall make my own choices.’

  He stared at her, a look of baffled disbelief in his dark eyes. ‘You actually choose him rather than me?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mickey, but yes, I do.’

  For a long moment he said nothing, then he got to his feet, slowly helped her up and painstakingly, almost tenderly, dusted her down.

  Alena drew in a trembling breath. ‘Thank you. I’m truly sorry about jilting you like that, but it was partly your own fault. I hope we can at least still be friends.’

  Mickey turned and started to walk away, hands hanging limply by his side, shoulders hunched, as if all the life had been punched out him. Then he stopped,
put back his head and let out a howl of fury or anguish, she wasn’t sure which, to the empty skies. Alena almost, in that moment, felt sorry for him. Even so she was unprepared for what happened next.

  He swung about and smacked his open hand across her face, sending her flying so that Alena stumbled and fell, banging her head against the bed post. She didn’t even whimper with the pain of it. Her eyes were riveted upon his, wild and demented, devoid of any humanity.

  It was then that something inside her seemed to click into place. It was as if she stepped outside herself to view her own helplessness, saw how he had held her captive, first with his domineering charm and now with his hands and body. And how she had allowed it to happen. She recalled seeing Ray treat her mother thus and how she had always sworn she would never allow such conduct towards herself. He wanted her to be afraid. And with this realisation, all fear left her. She hadn’t been a tomboy all her life for nothing. ‘Stand up for yourself,’ her brothers had so often told her, and she had. She would do so now. For all the indignity of her situation her next words sounded the very opposite of fearful, spoken in a voice that was steady and firm, and exceptionally calm.

  ‘That’s enough, Mickey. It’s finished. I’ll overlook your behaviour today because I can see you are upset and not thinking clearly. I’m not the girl for you. You have to accept that. I’ll not have you hit me, nor allow you to hurt my baby!’

  There was a stunned silence as Alena desperately tried to disguise the fact she was still shaking with shock.

  ‘You’re having a baby?’

  Alena nodded. ‘I am, and just as soon as we can make the arrangements, Rob and I mean to marry.’

  She saw the fight drain out of him, heard his pitiful attempt at face-saving as he mumbled something about not being prepared to take another man’s leavings. Then the sacking swung back across the door and he was gone.

  Alena’s knees buckled, no longer able to support her, and she sank to the ground, weeping with relief. But this time she knew he wouldn’t be coming back.