Jenna had not seen a wife sale before, although she had heard tales of it. She knew from her own experience that a wife had few rights. Her money and her property became her husband’s and she, in turn, became his property too. Her own marriage had been so unhappy and brutal that if Henry had agreed to end their marriage by selling her off, she would have been grateful to have been sold. Now he was dead. The distance between this unhappy period of her life and today allowed her the luxury of watching the spectacle unfold without feeling the despair she had endured during her own unhappy marriage. For the first time that day, she forgot how desperate she was to be hired.
The husband, smiling, was about to accept the bid when another was shouted from the crowd. The trio had not expected a stranger to bid and a heated argument broke out as the husband considered it and then accepted it. His wife and her lover were livid, their anger only apparent by their clenched fists and scarlet faces. The husband smiled as her lover was forced to increase his bid. By the third round of bidding her lover’s determination to buy her was waning. A quarrel broke out and as they argued Jenna’s eyes wandered over the crowd.
A variety of faces were turned to watch the sale. Men, women and children craned their necks for a better view, eager to see what was happening. Only one man, who stood on the edge of the crowd and casually leaned against a cart, had no interest in the farce. From his stance and jet-black hair, Jenna instantly recognised him as the man who had helped her escape. There was no mistaking him, as there were few men with such well-balanced features that held strength and kindness in equal measures. He was looking at her intently through narrowed eyes and she wondered if he recognised her, too. Heat rushed to her face, making her feel exposed and a little panicked. Furtively, she moved her mop in front of her face hoping to block his view. The last thing she needed while she was trying to be hired was him asking questions.
Keeping her eyes lowered, she heard the wife sale progress as the men agreed a price of two shillings and a quart of beer, and the lover emerged victorious. The crowd erupted about Jenna, but she dared not look up in case the stranger was still looking at her. Instead she remained rooted to the spot hoping that he would soon be on his way.
The wife sale completed, the woman and her lover walked through the crowd, their noses tilted upwards, their arm interlinked and both with a slight swagger to their step. The crowd was delighted at the unplanned entertainment and even broke into a spontaneous applause when the pair granted them a joint bow before finally exiting the square. The fayre slowly returned to normal and Jenna took the opportunity to furtively glance up. She saw him moving through the thinning crowd, and then she lost sight of him. He is gone, she thought, relieved, but she should have known better. His earlier attention had indicated an interest in her, and when she heard a man’s boots climb onto the left side of the stage, she did not need to look to know it was him.
The woman with the florid complexion ordered Jenna to show her hands. Obediently Jenna held one out, whilst trying to keep the mop head in the right position to obstruct the stranger’s view of her face. When the man’s well-shaped hand suddenly closed around the handle of her mop and brushed against hers, a wave of unfamiliar sensations swept over her. They caught the breath in her throat and slowed her mind to that of a drunkard, leaving her little choice but to allow him to take it. With her mop in his hand, the dark-haired stranger watched in silence as the woman examined her.
The larger woman looked at her now free hand. Satisfied, she ordered Jenna to open her mouth and show her teeth, before checking for lice in her clothes and hair. Jenna closed her eyes in shame at being examined like livestock. The man continued to say nothing, even when he handed the mop back to her when the examination was complete. His brows furrowed deep in thought, and for the briefest of moments she wondered if he was considering hiring her. However, when the woman offered a price he remained silent and when the ribbon was pinned onto Jenna’s dress to confirm that she was hired, he turned and walked away.
Jenna frowned as she watched him leave. His presence had unnerved her, but strangely, now that he was leaving, she felt disappointed that he had not bothered to barter for her. Had he come onto the stage to hire her, but on closer inspection thought better of it? The truth was, the handsome stranger had rejected her, and rejection is never a pleasant feeling to have.
From a short distance away, Jack watched the woman lead Jenna Kestle away. He had been shocked to see her again and found himself marvelling at life’s habit of tossing coincidences in one’s path. Moments before he caught sight of her he had been thinking about her, and then she was there, standing on a makeshift stage waiting to be hired.
At first he put it down to mistaken identity, or worse his imagination playing tricks on him, but the longer he watched her, the more he was convinced it was her.
The woman’s hair, previously hidden below a battered tricorn, was in fact long. Today, it was neatly plaited and lay over one shoulder. The last time he saw her, her feminine shape was hidden under boy’s clothing. Now it captivated his attention and drew him towards the stage, while a devil on his shoulder whispered in his ear and encouraged him to hire her. Jack almost succumbed, but thankfully saw sense and walked away. He knew that having an extra pair of ears beneath his roof was far too dangerous. It was best he kept his distance until he had completed what he had come here to do.
He watched her body sway to the movement of the cart as her new employer took her away from him. For a brief moment he felt a strange sense of loss for a woman he knew so little about. True, she had never been far from his thoughts. The last time he had seen her she was being chased by a crowd. It was only natural that he would feel concern for her welfare, he thought. He need not have worried as he remembered their hands briefly touching. Although her hand felt tense, during her examination she had a tilt to her chin, which showed determination – a trait he recognised in himself. He knew in that moment that he need not be concerned for her, for he saw that she was of strong character which would bode well for her future.
This newly acquired knowledge freed him from feeling concern for her and he found himself laughing a little too loudly at his earlier foolishness. The cart was long gone before Jack finally straightened his hat and turned away to head back to the Tolbridge Inn. He had further business to attend to, but, thankfully, he now had a clear head to do it with.
Chapter Four
The wooden spoon caught Jenna on the brow, bringing tears to her eyes which would remain unshed. It was the last straw and helped her to make the decision to leave. She pushed past Mabel Hobba and went to the empty room she shared with two other servants. Her employer followed with surprising speed, considering her lazy and slovenly ways. Ignoring the tirade of abuse that spilled from her wet lips, Jenna silently packed her meagre belongings. It did not take long. To ensure she had left nothing behind, Jenna lifted and tossed aside the moth-eaten blankets that masqueraded as her mattress and bed linen. Dust and cake crumbs billowed about them in a cloud as Mabel continued to shout at her.
The job was a disaster and Jenna would tolerate no more. One week was long enough to put up with her employer’s behaviour. Mabel was a bully and her son a gluttonous, spoilt child who took great joy in manipulating the people around him for his own entertainment. New servants were great fodder for his twisted games, which wreaked havoc amongst the staff and sent his mother reaching for her beating spoon.
The final incident occurred as a result of a cake going missing. Jenna knew who had taken it and despite the evidence found to the contrary, it was not her. In the early hours of the morning she saw the culprit eating it as she scrubbed the floor in the adjoining room. She also watched him place a handful of crumbs in his palm before leaving. Jenna said nothing, preferring to keep out of trouble, but when Mabel accused her of stealing the food she found herself in the midst of it all.
Despite Jenna’s denial, and telling her employer that the real culprit was her own son, the scattered crumbs on he
r bed pointed to her as the guilty party. Her son smiled as he watched his mother lift her wooden spoon to ‘beat the evil’ out of Jenna. Jenna dodged the first blow but the second had caught her with such force it momentarily stunned her. She had spent the last two years being beaten by Henry, she would not put up with it again. If she ran all the way, she thought, she might just get to the second Mop Fayre before it closed.
By the time Jenna arrived, stalls were starting to be packed away and people were beginning to disperse. Dishevelled from running the two miles to the fayre, and with a swelling on her left brow, which was already beginning to discolour, Jenna knew that she did not look like a reliable employee. However the hiring fayre would not be held again for another year, so she had little choice in the matter. She bought her ticket and took her place on the stage, trying not to shiver in the chilly October breeze. She realised she had no tool to represent her trade and, to add to her misery, the black clouds in the sky reminded her she had nothing to keep her dry should it rain. Thoughts of her brother’s debt, and her own homelessness, bolstered her determination to find a new job. Straightening her shoulders she waited on the empty stage, a lone figure, hoping for someone to notice her.
Despite his best efforts to engage the landlord of the Tolbridge Inn in conversation, Jack had discovered no new information on the smuggling organisation that traded in the area. The landlord was friendly enough, and would talk for hours on anything and everything – everything except the source of his French brandy and kegs of strong ale. Jack knew a lot already. It was who financed it that took his interest, but if he could not get the landlord to talk of the commonly known factors, he would not be able to discover the less known ones. For seven days he had visited the inn. One whole week, and he was no further forward for his efforts. It had also been a week since the fayre and he wondered if it would be there again today. His interest piqued, he pushed his chair back and decided to go for a little walk.
The square was quieter than he expected and for the first time he realised how late in the day it was. There were still a few stalls set up, but the items for sale were meagre and of poor quality as the best of the stock had already been sold. Jack gave them a cursory glance, but it was not the stallholders that interested him, but the makeshift stage on the edge of the square and the person on it.
He hadn’t expected to see her again. He had believed she would be a hard worker and her new employer would have no need to be rid of her. Yet there she stood, all alone in the darkening light. Jack wandered around the square, pretending to take an interest in the few stalls that remained by picking up the odd trinket on display, but all the time covertly glancing in her direction. Eventually, against his better judgement, he made his way towards the stage. Unsure as to what he hoped to achieve, he hesitated. She had not seen him yet, which was just as well. Jack did not usually suffer from bouts of indecision and for her to see him dither would be a humiliation. This thought helped him to make up his mind, but as he turned to leave for home a man walked by him and climbed the creaking steps of the stage.
Jack recognised him instantly as a regular drinker in the Tolbridge Inn. He also knew that the landlady and her daughter gave him the nickname ‘Handy’. After seeing his many lecherous advances to the women, he knew the name did not come from his skills in trade. When he heard Handy begin to discuss hiring her, Jack felt compelled to intervene.
Handy left Jenna to collect a ribbon from the organiser and seal the contract. Feeling duty-bound to warn her before she accepted it, Jack walked towards her.
‘Do not accept him,’ he whispered next to her ear.
She jumped. Her attention had been taken by the prospective employer, so hearing Jack’s voice so close came as a shock. She quickly turned her head towards him before he had a chance to withdraw. Fleetingly her lips grazed his cheek. Still feeling the feather-like sensation on his skin, he quickly straightened.
Perplexed, she frowned at him. ‘Why not?’ It was the first time he had heard her speak. Her tone was not at all unpleasant, although perhaps a little angry.
‘His hands are quicker than his wit and he is best avoided.’
She raised an eyebrow at him. ‘I don’t know of any man whose wit is quicker than his hands.’
He would have found her retort funny, had she not been directing it so strongly at him. He wanted to put her straight.
‘Well, you have now.’
‘Then you must have very slow hands for you do not present as a man of wit. Do you dither often?’
Jack pressed his lips into a thin line to prevent a smile. It seemed that she had seen him after all.
‘You have a sharp tongue,’ he replied.
‘Why is it that if a man makes a retort he is admired and respected for his cleverness, yet if a woman says something her tongue is considered sharp?’
He ignored her question. ‘What happened to your face?’ he asked, seeing the swelling on her brow for the first time.
‘Are you considering hiring me?’ she replied. Jack shook his head. ‘Then it is of no concern of yours.’
Handy returned with a broad smile on his lips and a ribbon in his short-fingered hand. Jack realised he was running out of time to persuade her, so he must try another tack.
‘Sir,’ Jack addressed him. ‘I suggest you do not hire this woman.’
Jenna’s eyes grew wide as she looked at him.
Handy frowned. ‘Why not, sir?’ he asked, holding the ribbon in mid-air.
What could he say?
‘She has the pox, sir.’ He watched Jenna’s mouth drop open in surprise.
The ribbon fluttered in Handy’s wavering hand. ‘What makes you say this?’ he asked, his voice edged with concern.
Jack looked accusingly at her shocked face. ‘I know this, sir,’ he said decisively, ‘for she has given it to me.’ The man looked doubtful. ‘It is true,’ Jack insisted. ‘The lesions are suppurating as we speak.’ Handy’s face mirrored his discomfort. Without saying a word he handed the ribbon to Jack and left the stage. Jenna was furious.
‘Sir, I must be hired!’
‘I am sure you will be, but not by that man. Unprotected, you will spend every waking hour trying to avoid his wandering hands. You are best out of it, madam.’
‘I can look after myself, sir. I did not ask for your assistance.’
‘No, but you needed it all the same. If he did not have designs upon you, being afflicted with the pox should not have mattered to him.’
‘It would if he wanted to run a healthy household. He wanted to hire me to care for his children.’
‘He has no children. He lives alone.’
Jenna’s confidence appeared to wane a little but she remained stubborn. ‘You seem to know a lot about his circumstances, or perhaps you embroider them to suit your own ends.’
‘I make it my business to know,’ Jack retorted.
She raised her eyebrow. ‘And what is your business, sir?’
Jack pressed his lips closed. He had said too much. It was time he was gone. Without saying more he turned and left the stage.
‘You are going to leave me?’ she shouted after him, dismayed. He dared not turn around but continued to walk away.
Jack did not go far and when it started to rain he sheltered in the mock Greek portico of the town hall. A steady stream of water poured from the front corner of his tricorn as he moodily watched Jenna from a distance. Stubbornly, she remained on the stage, waiting to be hired. The heavy downpour continued on, drenching her garments and hair until they both clung to her like a second skin, yet she refused to be defeated.
Jack glanced around the empty square and saw the organiser seeking shelter in the adjacent doorway. Cursing, Jack lifted his collar against the driving rain and went to him. Without speaking he grabbed a ribbon from him and headed for the stage.
‘Madam, you are hired for one day,’ he said, angrily pinning the ribbon to her dress.
‘I’m available for hire for one year, not one day.
’
‘It is one day or not at all,’ Jack replied, pulling out his purse and searching for some coins. ‘Five pennies,’ he said, taking her hand and forcing them into her palm. Her hand felt cold in his and he saw that her body was trembling despite her best efforts to conceal it. ‘Now go home and get some food in your belly before you catch a fever,’ he ordered.
‘What is your name?’
‘Penhale. Jack Penhale, now go home.’
‘Penhale, you say? No, I owe you a day’s work,’ Jenna insisted picking up her bag.
‘You owe me nothing. I have hired you and you do as I say. I say go home.’ Jack turned abruptly and walked angrily away. Despite his own good intention to protect her from the lecher, he had now fallen into the trap of feeling responsible for her. From his experience, payment could remove such an irritation and now he could return home with his conscience clear. It was only when he collected his horse and mounted its creaking, leather saddle, did he realise Jenna had followed him.
‘I owe you a day’s work,’ she argued. ‘This ribbon is proof of our contract. I will not have it said I took money for nothing.’
He almost relented. She looked cold. She was drenched. She looked desperate. What harm would one day bring? At the end he would have a tidy house, a warm meal and tomorrow she would be on her way. He looked at her wet body – too risky, he decided. After four and twenty hours he would find it harder to send her on her way. Silently, he turned his horse and encouraged it to walk home.
The rain finally stopped and the familiar smell of damp horse filled his nostrils. In the fading light, only the squelch of his horse’s hooves in the rain soaked earth broke the silence of the early evening. He felt quite alone so there was no reason for him to turn and look behind him, but for an innate instinct to remain vigilant for footpads. At first he mistook her for a shadow of the hedge that lined the narrow road, but then the shadow moved with a rhythm of a person on foot and he realised he was mistaken. He could see that the figure wore a dress and carried a bag, and although he could not see her features, he knew it must be her. He swore and resumed his journey. She would soon tire, he thought, and return to the comfort of Goverek town.
The Thief's Daughter Page 4
