Alice's Secret

by Lynne Francis

  Sarah’s happiness at Alice’s apparent recovery was short-lived, and she watched her anxiously, noticing what an effort it was for her to engage in even the simplest tasks. Several times a day she would come across her, lost in thought, staring out of the window or at a wall, her hands arrested in the middle of some semi-automatic task.

  Time is a harsh taskmaster. Longed-for events seem to take an age to arrive, then are over in a flash, leaving insubstantial memories in their wake. Dreaded events seem to arrive on wings, then pass with torturous slowness, leaving the smallest details to be relived time and again afterwards.

  So it was with Alice. Saturday was upon her before she felt in any way ready for it, and she was still undecided as to what to do.

  ‘Will you come with us this afternoon?’ Sarah enquired as she cleared porridge plates from the table.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Alice, pushing her plate away. She’d eaten barely two spoonfuls, dread and apprehension forming a tight knot in her stomach. ‘Perhaps it will rain?’ She looked hopefully outside.

  ‘It’s a lovely day. The walk and fresh air will do you good,’ Sarah said firmly, although privately she wondered whether Alice was strong enough to walk as far as the big house. The mental trials of the last few days had taken their physical toll. She longed to ask Alice what lay behind all this grief and despair, but dare not. Alice seemed too fragile, too close to tears, so she turned her attention instead to Annie and Beattie, who were working themselves into a frenzy of excitement already.

  ‘Can we pick flowers from the garden? For our hair?’

  ‘No, you leave the flowers be. And anyway, any flowers that you pick now will be dead long before you even leave for the party. Now away with you and find something else to do for the morning. I’ve enough to do here.’ Sarah shooed them out of the kitchen, aware that a pile of laundry was waiting to be done once the breakfast dishes were cleared.

  Alice stood up slowly from the table. ‘I’ll find something to keep us all busy. Maybe a walk to look for hedgerow flowers – it won’t matter if they spoil.’

  ‘Don’t tire yourself, or the little ones. It’s going to be a long day for you all,’ Sarah fussed, but was glad to see Alice occupied, and just as glad of the chance to get them from under her feet so that she could get her chores out of the way.

  Chapter Twelve

  The door finally banged shut, the excited chatter and giggles fading into the distance as the family headed off to walk to the big house. Alice breathed a sigh of relief. When Sarah had asked for the final time, ‘You won’t come with us?’ Alice had shaken her head mutely. Now the house seemed to be listening to the silence, as if in expectation of a sudden return to the normal hustle and bustle, before relaxing into it. Boards creaked and settled. Alice watched a few remaining stragglers hurry past the house, keen not to miss the chance of a drink or two. Occasions for outings and entertainment were few and far between in Northwaite – it was no wonder that the wedding had caused such a stir in the village.

  Alice had thought that she would feel better as soon as everyone had gone. She’d looked forward to some time to herself, to peace and a chance to think, other than in the deepest watches of the night, when her thoughts were filled with black despair. The house was always full of people and a whirl of activity, of practical tasks, of chatter. Now, silence crept through all the rooms and filled them up. Suddenly, Alice found it terrifying. She didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts. The pain of them was too great, even in the bright light of day. She ran up the stairs – Elisabeth was lying peacefully in her cot, awake from her nap, watching sunlight dance across the ceiling. Alice bent over the cot and Elisabeth turned and smiled at her, reaching out her arms. A few minutes later, mother and baby were hurrying down the garden path, treading in the footsteps of those who had passed not ten minutes before.

  The pair hadn’t gone very far before Alice caught the sound of a peal of bells, carried softly on the breeze. So, the deed was done. Richard and Caroline were married. She gave a little gasping sob, causing Elisabeth to look up at her, worry again clouding her eyes. Alice hugged her briefly.

  ‘The sun is shining on them,’ she said, half to herself. ‘Blessing their wedding day. Oh Elisabeth, what’s to become of us?’

  It was indeed a beautiful day. White clouds scudded across a clear blue sky, and a light breeze blew through the trees. Alice’s feet hurried her forwards, past banks of summer flowers, drifts of pink and white. Normally she would have stopped, exclaimed, shown them to Elisabeth. Today, her heart was too heavy. They reminded her that the path from the church would have been strewn with petals of flowers just like these, so that the bride and groom would start out on a happy path. When she was younger, she had waited outside the church, watching happy couples emerge, smelt the perfume of the crushed petals, thought how one day she might be in their place. She knew now that all hope of that was gone.

  She heard the chatter of the crowd before she reached the field below the big house. Pausing a moment in the shade of the lane, she looked over the stone wall to take in the scene. The millhands, still in their work clothes, mingled with their families, who were all dressed in their Sunday best, and had walked in from the surrounding villages. The mill girls had plucked flowers from the verges on their walk up from the mill, and used them to dress their hair, or to adorn a buttonhole. The men had made the effort to sluice their faces, hair and hands under the pump before setting off, in an attempt to appear respectable. Children ran about everywhere, threading themselves in and out of the excited knots of people. The chatter was made all the more lively by the ale being dispensed by the jugful. Alice spotted their neighbour Louisa looking flustered, her hair escaping the pins beneath her maid’s cap, as she attempted to pour drinks for the mill men, who were bent on teasing her mercilessly. Automatically, Alice looked for Williams amongst them, but she couldn’t see him there.

  Elisabeth grew restless in her arms and started to struggle, so Alice turned her around to face the crowd. She was instantly captivated by the movement and colour, waving her arms in excitement as a couple of small children chased a yapping dog close to their vantage point.

  Holding her firmly around the waist, Alice settled her on top of the low wall, so that Elisabeth’s back rested against her. The grey stones, densely covered in thick green moss, made a soft if rather damp cushion. Mother and daughter were partly hidden from view by the branches of the trees that grew all along the lane, shading it from the elements. It was cool here, and calmer. Alice couldn’t face going out among the crowd. They would stay here and watch, she decided.

  She didn’t have long to wait. She noticed that heads were starting to turn towards the house in a ripple effect, and the crowd in the field all hushed as one. Richard and his new bride had stepped out on to the terrace of the big house. Flanked by Richard’s parents, they came up to the balustrade and gazed at the crowd below. From this distance, Alice could make out little beyond the fact that Caroline’s hair was blonde and all but hidden by her veil, now thrown back to reveal a few ringlets escaping around the edge. Her dress was strange to the eyes of those used to the Northwaite uniform of long skirt, blouse and shawl. White and full-length, it had tight sleeves that puffed out around the shoulders, which had the effect of making her waist look very small. There was a moment’s silence, and then someone in the crowd cheered, others clapped and Richard and Caroline smiled, waved and raised their joined hands. Caroline flung the flowers she was holding to the crowd below, creating an unseemly scramble. Alice could hear the screams of excitement from where she stood. She smiled briefly as the crowd parted and she saw her old friend from the mill, Betty Ackroyd, waving the flowers in triumph above her head.

  The next moment, Alice felt as though her legs would buckle beneath her, and she bent forward, sobbing. She clung to Elisabeth, and to the wall, to keep herself grounded. If she hadn’t, she felt she would’ve dissolved into the earth. She focused her gaze on the moss, its vivid green strands
arranged in velvety layers on the damp grey stones, and breathed deeply, trying to stop the racking sobs.

  ‘Steady now.’ The voice was gruff. ‘You’ll crush the child. Here –’ and Alice felt herself gripped around the waist and lifted upright. She half turned to see who had come to her aid, blinking away the tears that blurred her vision. She started when she recognised Williams, and he saw the change in her face.

  ‘Now, now. Don’t be afeared. I was late leaving the mill and had only got this far when I saw you here. You seemed – unwell.’ His tone was quite reasonable.

  He turned towards Elisabeth. ‘She’s quite grown since I last saw her.’ Alice was briefly reminded of their last meeting, near the primrose bank, and of his words, which had seemed harsh at the time but now seemed so prophetic. Her tears welled again.

  ‘Don’t take on so.’ Again, gruff kindness. ‘How could it ever have been otherwise?’ Williams gestured at the field. ‘You belong here, with your folk. They belong up there.’ They both turned back to gaze at the terrace, where the guests were now being served drinks.

  ‘I must get on,’ Williams said. He brandished a rolled sheet of paper. ‘The master is expecting the weekly report on production – aye – even on his son’s wedding day.’ He turned to go, then turned back. ‘Will you be all right now? Shall I send someone to fetch your sister?’

  Was this concern that Alice read in his eyes?

  ‘I’m well. You must get on.’ Alice tried to thank him but the words stuck in her throat. She had a sudden clear memory of Williams at the mill, the struggles, his hot breath on her neck. Clasping Elisabeth, she stepped back, suddenly distrustful.

  ‘I’ll be on my way, then.’ Williams took a few paces, then turned back towards her again. ‘I’ll still make an honest woman of you, Alice Bancroft, no matter what has passed before.’

  Alice bit her lip and shook her head silently. Was that a threat or a suggestion?

  Williams seemed unperturbed. ‘Think on it. Times are about to change around here. You might be glad of me afore long,’ and with that he turned and walked on.

  Alice watched a little while longer from the shady spot. Shuddering, dry sobs were still racking her body intermittently and she wanted to wait until she felt more composed before returning home. She saw Richard break away from his bride and the guests on the terrace and walk to the balustrade. She could just make out Lucy by his side. He leant over and scanned the crowd, who were now all oblivious to the goings-on at the big house, too involved in their own celebrations to notice him. Was he looking for her, she wondered? Was he looking for the little family he’d left behind, had to leave behind if his note were true. She liked to think he was, and it saddened her momentarily to think that he wouldn’t catch sight of them.

  Alice’s head ached. The last week had seen all her hopes for the future fade, all her dreams dashed. The little bubble she had been living in had burst. She realised only too well that she now had to find a way to support her family. They couldn’t be a burden on Sarah, and on Ella’s meagre wages, any longer.

  ‘Come, Elisabeth,’ she said, aware of her daughter’s fractiousness. She was probably hungry. ‘We must go home. We have plans to make.’

  Alice took a lingering look out over the field and the big house. Most of those there had formed themselves into tight knots of animated conversation. She couldn’t see Sarah, Ella and the little ones, but knew that they would be full of tales of the afternoon when they eventually returned. The group on the terrace of the big house had started to drift inside and Richard was nowhere to be seen, although Caroline was still visible, a bright spot in the afternoon sunshine, surrounded by a little huddle of guests. Alice tried to imagine herself as Richard’s bride, standing in Caroline’s place on the terrace, wearing her fancy gown. Would she have Elisabeth in her arms? What would she say to Richard’s parents, to all their wealthy, distinguished guests? Would she know how to conduct herself, how to charm and flatter and flirt, as no doubt Caroline did?

  Alice turned away. Her headache grew worse on the journey home, every step seeming to shake the bones of her skull, to compress them. She’d tried to shut down her fevered imagination but she couldn’t stop herself wondering about Richard. Was he distraught too? Was he smiling and accepting everyone’s congratulations, all the while wishing himself far away over the moor, Lucy at his side? Or was he squeezing Caroline’s hand and thinking what a lucky man he was, looking forward to the secret darkness of their wedding night, to murmured whispers of love, to future happiness, to children, to a rich, contented future?

  Alice had thought that seeing Richard and Caroline together might make their marriage easier to accept. That it was better to know, than to imagine. But the reality of them as a couple made the imagining ever more vivid. She longed to be able to shut off her thoughts but by the time she reached home she was sobbing again. It was with a sense of relief that she entered the coolness of the familiar kitchen, drank water, fed Elisabeth and prepared food for the family’s return. All the while, her thoughts ran on and on, on a path of their own, a relentless treadmill, a rack on which to stretch and torture herself until she might break.

  She was glad when the pale-grey dawn light filtered through the curtains. She had lain awake most of the night, tortured by thoughts of Richard and Caroline on their wedding night. She’d pinched herself, bitten down on her hand, tried silently to distract herself from the mental torment with physical pain. Worried that her tossing and turning would disturb Elisabeth, she’d tried hard to lie as still as possible. She needn’t have worried: Elisabeth slept soundly, worn out by the excitement of the evening once the rest of the family had returned from the celebrations, full of tales of who had done, seen or said what. Happily for Alice, few of the tales centred around the bride and groom, instead focusing on gossip to do with the mill or the village. Thomas, Annie and Beattie, over-excited by the novelty of the day, and fuelled by the food that Alice had prepared, ran around like mad things and teased Elisabeth until she was nearly choking from giggling and laughing.

  ‘Enough!’ Sarah eventually called a halt. ‘Be off with you to your beds. That’s more than enough excitement for one day.’

  Hands and faces were washed sketchily, and by the time that they had all found their nightclothes, the excited chatter had given way to sleepy mumbling. They fell asleep almost at once, faces still flushed from the excitement of the day.

  Now Alice found herself wishing that Elisabeth would wake up, even though she would normally relish any extra minutes of peace that she might get before the day began. She needed something to pull her thoughts away from the terrible repetitive path that they were bound to. She threw back the covers and made her way downstairs, avoiding the creaking floorboards remembered so well from her previous nocturnal journeys. Her trysts with Richard seemed like a very long time ago now. Pausing only to wrap a shawl around her shoulders, she slipped the bolt back and let herself out into the garden. The sun was rising and the scent of damp foliage was carried on the cool air. Alice breathed deeply. Dew covered the grass and she had to stifle a cry as the chill of it struck her bare feet. Lifting the hem of her nightdress clear of the ground, she made her way to the bottom of the garden and leant against the fence, gazing out over the fields and woods.

  She picked out familiar landmarks: the church tower, the road climbing away from the village, the gap in the woods where the path dropped down into the mill valley. Down the valley, out of sight, lay the big house. Alice shivered and turned away, looking back towards her own house, still all closed and dark-eyed against the morning. No one stirred, all worn out by the exertions of the previous day. As she was about to start back up the garden, her eye was caught by a movement across the field, along the edge of the wood. A hare, perhaps, taking a leisurely breakfast? She looked again and made out a dog, bounding along beside its master who was striding out in the shadows, his back to Alice as he headed for home. It was Lucy and Richard.

  Alice stood and watched them
out of sight. Were his thoughts troubled too? Was it thoughts of the little family that he had left behind that had driven him from the marriage bed so early in the morning?

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was less than a week after the wedding, and a miserable wet evening, when Ella came home in a state of some agitation.

  ‘You’d best find some dry clothes,’ Sarah observed, taking the sodden shawl from her shoulders and handing her a cloth to dry her dripping hair. Ella wanted to huddle by the range, but Sarah sent her upstairs to change while she lit the fire in the parlour. When the weather changed in these parts, Northwaite, high and exposed on the hill, often bore the brunt of it.

  Ella was quiet once she was downstairs again, and Sarah’s heart sank. Alice was still very troubled and withdrawn and Sarah didn’t think she could cope with more concern and heartache. She wondered how to broach the subject of what was wrong. She didn’t have long to wait.

  ‘There are rumours at work,’ Ella said abruptly, after sitting in silence for some time.

  ‘What rumours?’ Sarah’s mind immediately flew to Alice. Had this something to do with her unhappiness?

  ‘That we’re to go on short-time,’ said Ella.

  Sarah was puzzled. ‘Are you not busy at the mill?’

  ‘It seems no different to usual. But some say Mr Weatherall isn’t getting the price for the cotton that he used to. The bigger mills can undercut him. He doesn’t think it’s worth running at full production until business picks up again.’