“Here!” He was holding out a florin! She stepped back:
“Oh, no, sir. I couldn’t!”
“It’s a Christmas box, Sally. For you and the children.” He laughed out loud. “Take it. And don’t hang your head. Look at me!” He cupped her chin in his hand. “Be happy.” She coloured under his gaze. She’d never seen such bright, blue eyes!
“I can’t, sir!”
“What nonsense! You can - and you must - or I shall be offended. And that will do you no good at all.” He was pressing the coin into the palm of her hand. And she couldn’t resist.
Looking back, Sally realised how she’d been trapped. Like a little beast in a snare. Being in Sheridan’s employ at that time had made her so vulnerable. She couldn’t have thrown the money into his face, but she shouldn’t have taken it either. Both ways he was too powerful as master and there had been no way out.
That florin had bought all the Christmas boxes they’d ever had. The Shrikes lacked a father. He’d died after falling when shovelling coal under the salt pans. Sam, she and her mother were the only breadwinners.
Sally knew her father would have wanted to die again anyway if he’d known what had happened to his daughter. But her brother was braver.
At first, Sam had put down his head and sobbed. Whether from anger or sorrow she was too frightened to ask but, after, he’d clenched his fists and set his jaw until the veins stood out.
“The brute’ll pay,” was all he said. But how? Soon her pregnancy would be the butt of every dirty mouth in Upwych.
But not all gentlemen were the same. She had to believe that. If it hadn’t been for Mr Vyne she might have died. Sally forced herself to think of that too...
There was a stable not far from the yard where the coal horses were kept. The Shrikes’ red brick cottage was about a quarter mile from it between the canal and the river.
Sally loved the place. It seemed remote from the noise and dust of the coal yard and the shouts of the workmen as they loaded their barges.
When she and Sam were small, they’d creep into the stable, climb through the mangers and on into the loft space.
In the summer dusk they used to sit up there and listen to the owls crying, watching the bats winging their way about the yard and down the thoroughfare of the water. There was a special smell about the stable and it was always deep with straw.
Beneath the floor was a small room where winter feed was kept which could only be reached by a trapdoor. No child with the exception of Sally and Sam could ever find the entrance. It was their secret place.
When the horses were brought in steaming from work, Sally used to stand by the beasts and take comfort from their warmth through her thin dress. She loved them and when she was grown, watered and fed the animals, who were used to pull both coal and salt carts to the station.
Sally might have been short on book-learning but she was bright with imagination. The day after she’d met Mr Sheridan she was in the stable singing a carol very loudly.
Blossom, her favourite shire, was lying down peacefully and, as Sally sang happily, she was thinking about Christmas and another stable far away.
The times she had wished she hadn’t been there! Nor decided to climb into the loft. If only she hadn’t been singing, she would have heard him creep up behind her through the manger.
How he squeezed through she’d never know. Charlie Sheridan was a big young man who would have squashed the life out of himself just to get at her. If she’d known what he was going to do she would have jumped out of the window, even if it’d meant breaking her leg!
He’d come at her from the back. Taken her by surprise. She could smell the soap on him. That was the only way she recognised him, as none of the village lads could afford finery.
Then he’d thrown her backwards on to the dusty boards, strewed with wisps of hay and chaff. When she came to afterwards, she had chaff mixed with blood in her mouth. His buttons had scored her skin and he cut her pitiful cries of pain by pushing his scarf in her mouth and fastening it behind.
It was no good struggling as he sought her breasts - nor could she raise herself from under the heavy length of his body as he began to do unspeakable things to hers. He was too hard to shift...
“If you tell on me, Sally, I’ll have the lot of you out of the cottage and on the streets. D’ye hear?” He was fastening his buttons as he said it.
Then, when he’d done, he tweaked the scarf from off her mouth, pulled her up from the floor and clapped her on the bottom. “There, that’s better. Don’t look stricken. You’ll be alright. Wasn’t that bad, was it? Get off home now. And don’t tell. Remember?” She nodded, mute with horror.
He was gone with a thud. Jumped right out of the loft. Seconds later, she heard him ride off, his horse’s hooves scraping and skidding on the cobbles.
It seemed an age before she had the strength to slip through the manger. Then she lay along Blossom’s warm side for comfort and wept...
And he found her there. Not the brutish Sheridan, but Mr Vyne, come looking for trouble after seeing his half-brother riding away from the stable like a madman. When she’d heard the hooves, she’d frozen with fear, thinking Charlie had come back for more.
Mr Vyne had not said much, but his eyes were wild. He had taken her home first after he’d promised to speak to Sam. And he had arranged for the family to leave Stretton employ and work for Annesleys.
How he’d managed it with Miss Elizabeth, she didn’t know, but, at least, that was one burden lifted. She had to work for Charlie Sheridan no more, but she still lived in the cottage near to Raven’s Mill.
Mr Vyne could do nothing about that, but, on account of her fearful horror for the place where she’d been raped, he’d forbidden the use of the old stable by the coal horses any more, promising to have it demolished. Sally was glad of that, as it belonged to her childhood, which was now no more!
Their own cottage was derelict and he’d promised to have them moved but Sam had forbidden it. Shrikes had lived there for two hundred years and, in any case, until the doctor confirmed Sally’s pregnancy, none of the family were any wiser. She was forced to tell her mother then.
Maria Shrike was inconsolable after the confirmation. But she was a female salter and had no weight behind her words.
She knew there were villages all over the county where working girls had encouraged their master and paid for it. And, in the heated exchange that followed, Maria accused Sally of bringing trouble on herself and the family.
But Mr Vyne and Sam knew her better! And the young master had been the first, had borne the knowledge of Sally’s rape by Charlie, had paid for her to visit the doctor on the day they had met Miss Annesley - and Sally had blessed him for his goodness.
If anyone maligned Mr Vyne in Sally’s hearing, she defended him fiercely. But perhaps she had been too vehement in his defence? Now folks were guessing at her illness and several of the salters’ women, who were jealous of the favours to the Shrikes like the new-found job at Annesley’s, had started to whisper about Mr Vyne.
The injustice nearly killed Sally, but she dared not breathe a word about Mr Sheridan. Mr Vyne had ordered her not to for his mother’s sake. He’d promised Sally and the child would be provided for and, so far, he’d done all he promised...
As she went over her predicament again and again, huddling beside the fire, Sally Shrike began wishing she might have fallen into the brine pit when she was but a little wench. If she had, then she would not have brought trouble on the two men she loved and respected most in the world, her brother, Sam, and the honourable Mr Caleb Vyne.
Sally stared into the fire anxiously...and came to with a start. There was a faraway shrieking noise in her ears as she was torn from sleep.
At first, she thought it was the Bull, the factory whistle summoning them to work; that she had overslept! Then she remembered where she was. Sally struggled to her feet, stiff from the uncomfortable position in which she’d fallen asleep, and hurried outside.<
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She shivered when she recognised where the sound was coming from. The alarm was sounding at Upwych. Not Stretton. It meant some disaster had struck the Annesley pit! The whistle was always sounded when something terrible happened. Like when her father fell into the coals tending the pans.
All Sally could think of now was her mother, Sam and the children! Shocked, she dashed back into the cottage and threw her shawl over head and shoulder.
Then, still feeling sick and ill, she emerged and began to run along the path in the direction of town.
She must make it to Upwych and find out what had happened. As she was forced to slow down because of a stitch in her side, she was praying that no more misfortune would fall on the Shrikes because that would be more than Sally could bear.
CHAPTER 7
Upwych was in uproar. The streets were crowded with anxious men, women and children, making for the works, while a press of carriages jammed the surrounding roads.
Practically everyone in the town worked for or was connected in some fashion with the mining of salt. It was their livelihood.
One blast upon the whistle which was not the customary one beckoning to or leaving work, was enough to throw innkeepers, shopkeepers and salters into chaos.
It was all a question of the town’s survival and on that winter morning as Lydia Annesley sat down to breakfast, her wealth was already dissipating beneath her like the insubstantial white frost under the sun!
She put down her china cup suddenly as the mournful siren wailed. Sarah, who was waiting at table, clapped her hands to her mouth.
“What is it, Sarah? What’s that noise?” cried Lydia.
“The Bull, Miss! The whistle!” The girl could hardly speak!
“What whistle? What do you mean? Tell me!” Then Wilson was coming in. “Wilson, tell me quickly.” The housekeeper looked as frightened as Sarah.
“It’s the factory whistle, miss, on the chimney --”
“Yes, go on!”
“It’s called “The Bull”. They sound it when there’s been an accident at the pit.” Lydia’s heart lurched. She looked from one servant to the other.
“Well, why are you standing there? Find out what’s happened!” She was rising from the table and Wilson was already hurrying from the room.
“Sarah, pull yourself together!” The girl was shivering, her eyes staring out of her head.
“But, Miss Lydia, what about Miss Elizabeth?”
“I’ll go to her straightaway. And, Sarah, fetch my coat and tell Blanchard I shall need the carriage directly. I intend to go down there myself but get him to send one of the boys to the works to see Dobson and find out what is happening!”
Lydia was determined not to let her anxiety show to the servants but, inside, she was dreading what effect bad news might have on her sick aunt and full of concern as to what might have happened at the works.
As she hurried up the broad staircase, she was thinking about those pitiful people who tended the salt pans. What misfortune could have befallen them now?
Elizabeth had woken, white and shaken by the whistle’s blast. She had heard it several times in her life and each time wished she would never hear it again.
Her niece did her best to console her but Lydia had never experienced a factory disaster, which was a terrible thing.
Elizabeth could see that Lydia’s place was at the works, but she was determined to delay her for a while. Soon, Wilson would return with news, which was better faced at home. If it was dire, the experience of waiting at the factory gates would have a shocking effect - and Lydia had to be strong to face the consequences.
“May I not go now, aunt?” begged Lydia, but Elizabeth Annesley shook her head.
“Let Dobson send us the news. I shall bear it better with you by my side.” Elizabeth could see that this was the only way to prevent her leaving. So Lydia paced up and down the room, while her aunt lay, fighting for breath and trying to calm herself.
Dr May had been sent for, but Blanchard had returned with the message from his maid that he, too, was at the pit, but she would convey the request to attend Miss Annesley as soon as she possibly could.
All the two women could do was wait...And Lydia thought it was possibly the worst moment of her life when Wilson entered the bedroom. Her face was sombre and she was clasping her hands as she broke the news...
No one had been injured, but the brine had ceased to flow; that when Dobson had dispatched men to find out the matter they had discovered sabotage. The Annesley brine pipes had been cut right through.
“Thank God, no one has died,” whispered Elizabeth to Lydia, hand to her heaving chest. “But, Liddy, we are ruined if we have no brine.” She coughed and clutched her side.
“Yes, aunt, let us thank Him,” replied Lydia gravely. Her shock was mixed with relief. Ruin was something she could face if she had to, but not the death of her salters.
It was only later when the doctor came and examined Elizabeth that the full importance of what had happened was beginning to strike.
Once her aunt was settled, Lydia ordered the carriage so that she could visit the works and find out the damage exactly.
What Lydia had not understood before, concerning her own company, was soon to become apparent. It was true that the Annesley Works depended on its own pit, into which the brine gushed daily from below the earth’s surface. The liquid gold ran freely beneath the town, only needing local men to pump it up through Annesley’s cumbersome machinery.
However, much of the young heiress’s troubles stemmed from the fact that the brine was diminishing in the area of the works pit although old Herbert Annesley, being the good business man he was, had decided to expand all over the estate and bore holes to find more brine so the family fortunes could keep increasing.
There had been so many quarrels in past centuries over the rights to such estate, but the Annesleys had staked their claim and held on to their land.
The new bore holes had resulted in the laying of pipes to the Upwych brine pit and, beneath the ground was a network of pipes leading to the very heart of town! Evidently a person or persons unknown had severed the pipes leading from the most important brine seam of all!
When Lydia finally reached the works, her carriage had to pass through a crowd of silent workers, who stood back, looking like white ghosts. There was an eerie silence now the machinery had ceased and, inside the foreman’s office Lydia learned of the felony.
“Totally severed, Miss Annesley.” Dobson was afraid to tell the young mistress just how serious it was. Their supply was leaking away into the surrounding earth and the Annesleys were becoming poorer by the minute.
“Severed?” she repeated to the foreman. “But who would do such a terrible thing to us?” Dobson and the bailiff exchanged glances. Lydia looked from one to the other. “If you have any suspicion, I beg you, tell me!”
“We have suspicions, miss,” said the bailiff, “but no proof.”
“Strettons, miss,” said Dobson. “They’re the ones who’ll profit by our fall. Our competitors.”
“But would they stoop this far?” Lydia could see by the men’s faces that they believed it. “And you cannot prove it?”
“No - except the cutting of the pipes occurred at a spot not far from Raven’s Mill,” added Dobson. A slight shiver passed through Lydia’s body thinking of the sinister house.
“Where your land borders theirs,” reminded the bailiff. “They had the prime opportunity, miss, and the motive.”
“But they have new machinery. I’ve seen it.” Dobson was looking at his mistress keenly. He had heard she was very fond of riding out near the Mill and he didn’t care for the idea. “Why would they need to cut our pipes?” continued Lydia.
“Who knows, miss?” answered the bailiff. “But there is always greed. And Strettons have never loved Annesley since the old days.”
“Yes, I heard about that from Blanchard,” said Lydia dismissively. “But that was in the time of King Charles!”<
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The men were gauging the atmosphere. Both sensed Miss Lydia seemed unwilling to hear tales against the Strettons. Was Mr Sheridan or Mr Vyne to blame for that? They had to be careful what they said.
“I shall go and see the damage for myself,” said Lydia spiritedly, “as soon as I have a chance. But, now, I need to decide what is to be done.” She sighed, biting her lip while the men waited respectfully.
“Miss Elizabeth has suggested I call the Works Board together to discuss the future. The sooner we can gather, the sooner the men will be back in work. I think that is the answer, don’t you?” The men nodded. “Dobson, can you see to the preparation of engineering work, so that we may begin as soon as the Board makes its decision as to how to proceed?”
“Yes, Miss Annesley!”
“And, bailiff, I’m relying on you to make the arrangements for the meeting.”
“At your service, miss.”
“And thank you both for your explanation.” Lydia rose and began to pull on her gloves. Then her workmen were bending over her hand, mightily glad their ordeal with the young mistress had come to an end. And it had been a very ticklish one.
Later, as Lydia made her way back to Annesley House in the carriage, she was going over and over their accusations. She was sure that Mr Sheridan, all honest eyes and manners would not stoop to such a foul practice as cutting her brine pipes.
As for Caleb Vyne - she couldn’t imagine that either! Stern and silent, he might be, but not a criminal surely. Her heart ached at the thought. Only a few months ago she’d been full of hopeful dreams and fond imaginings. Just playing at life - and the expectation of love.
She remembered her first sight of the two young men when the hunt streamed over the railway line at Fern Hill Heath! Who would have imagined they could do her harm? Or that only a few months after she was ready to accuse either of them of such a heinous crime? Had her instincts of admiration been so misplaced?
And yet, throughout the time she had known the Strettons, it had always been Caleb Vyne who’d offended her. That first walk in the park when he had treated her so arrogantly. Soon afterwards she’d witnessed his solitary and suspicious liaison with Sally Shrike beside the river and, in the wake of that unsettling incident, had seen him slight his brother quite openly.
The Price of Beauty Page 10
