She laid down her pen. Alice would grow up without knowing her father, and it would be even worse for the new baby. And Ada had been right. How would they manage for money?
With the letter sent on its way, Sarah had ample time to reflect. Her future suddenly looked very different. The home life that she had envisaged with a husband and family had already turned out to be but a dream, and she had had to adapt to Joe’s lengthy absences. No sooner had their life fallen into some sort of manageable pattern, with Joe spending what time he could with them, then that had been ripped away from her too. If she thought about it too much it was almost unbearable. Six years without her husband was too long, and for such a petty crime. Sarah was torn between anger at Joe’s folly and rage against what seemed like a sentence out of all proportion.
Ada was tight-lipped. After his last visit she had started to thaw out a little towards Joe but now her opinion was reversed. She was still smarting from her interview with Mr Heaton and the revelation of Joe’s current, and past, misdemeanours. Once again, he seemed like a foolish choice for her granddaughter to have made, and she could see only too clearly the path that lay ahead if they could not, in future, make ends meet.
Thankfully, Joe had already put his mark to the contract for Lane End Cottage and so there was no need for the solicitor to know anything of their changed circumstances. Unless, that is, gossip or news of the court case and sentence appearing in the local newspaper put paid to that. Ada tried to put that thought aside: further worry served no purpose at this point.
By unspoken consent the two women devoted their efforts to ensuring that Ada’s herbalism could support them. Sarah tried to stop her mind straying to thoughts of Joe by focusing as much attention as possible on learning whatever she could from Ada, and so it came as something of a shock when, two weeks after she had sent her letter to Leeds jail, the reply came back. When Ada handed her the letter she took it wordlessly and put it in her pocket, then took her bonnet from the hook.
‘Would you mind Alice for me?’ she asked Ada, barely waiting for a reply before she slipped through the door and down the path. She had no destination in mind when she left the house, but her feet took her away from the village, following the road out of town. Walking rapidly, she ran her finger along the folded edges of the letter in her pocket. The thought of what lay within made her tremble and when she reached the five-barred gate where her labour with Alice had begun, she came to a halt, feeling nauseous and light-headed. Leaning on the gate for support she took the letter from her pocket and opened it with shaky fingers.
‘My dearest Sarah,’ it read. ‘I would that I could turn back the clock and undo what has come to pass. You may be sure that I am paying the price for my folly. I wish I had known that another baby was on the way and all I can do is to beg you to look after yourself, and Alice too. I know you will have no knowledge of what it is like in here and so that you might think of me by day, and know what I am about, I thought I would describe prison life to you.
‘We rise at 6am and must take a turn around the yard before breakfast. Then after a bowl of gruel we must work for 4 hours (I have been given the task of helping clean the jail) until we have our midday meal. It is hard to believe that soup and bread or meat and potatoes can be such a high point of the day, especially when you see how little meat is served to us and how hard the bread is that accompanies it. The afternoon is for hard labour – I must walk a treadmill each day until I all but drop. Every night we get a watery soup or more gruel then it is back to our cells to sleep, before we begin all over again.
‘I miss the canal, the daylight, the freedom of being outside but most of all I miss you, Sarah.
Your loving husband, Joe.’
Chapter 40
At first reading, Sarah was delighted by Joe’s letter and its apologetic tone and by his thoughtfulness in sharing the details of prison life with her, even though it sounded hard and difficult to endure. Then she fell to wondering how much of the letter was actually in Joe’s words. It didn’t sound like his voice at all and, on rereading it, she began to wonder whether in fact it was a standard letter that prison scribes copied out, adding a few personal details here and there to make it sound authentic. It was impossible to tell since none of it was in Joe’s hand but the suspicion, once aroused, was impossible to eradicate.
Sarah’s nervous excitement, then elation, dissipated and she was left feeling ruffled on her walk home, which she took at a slower pace than her journey out. Her headache and the nausea had returned with such force that she had to stop and rest before covering the last few yards.
Sarah was barely through the door before Ada burst out with a piece of her own news. ‘Daniel is coming to visit next weekend.’ She had also received a letter by the same post that brought Joe’s, and had been waiting impatiently for Sarah’s return. Then Ada noticed her granddaughter’s pallor and, laying her hand on Sarah’s forehead, she exclaimed over how clammy it was.
‘Sit down,’ she ordered, before fetching her a glass of water, which Sarah gulped gratefully, wondering whether this was all that was required to drive away the nausea. She drew Daniel’s letter, which lay open on the table, towards her. It was brief and to the point:
‘I have business in the area at the end of next week and so I will call by, if convenient, to see how you are settling in. It seems as though too many weeks have passed since I last saw you and I hope all is well at Lane End Cottage. I often imagine you there while I am at work in Manchester and look forward to seeing you all – I am sure I will find Alice grown already.
Daniel.’
Sarah was reminded painfully of the nature of Joe’s letter – this one was undoubtedly all Daniel’s own work.
‘It’s been weeks since we’ve seen him,’ Ada remarked, as Sarah read the letter. The gladness in her voice at the thought of Daniel’s visit was a reminder of the closeness that existed between Daniel and Ada, Sarah thought. She could not imagine her grandmother exhibiting such delight at the announcement of a forthcoming visit from Joe – impossible though that now was.
All at once overcome with weariness, Sarah was forced to ask her grandmother whether she would mind if she went to lie down for a little while. Ada, musing aloud about Daniel’s visit and what she might cook for him, was pulled back to the present and regarded Sarah with concern once more. She helped her granddaughter up the stairs to bed, where Sarah fell instantly asleep, although it was a restless slumber, filled with dreams.
She awoke to find that dusk had fallen; she could hear the murmur of Ada and Alice’s voices from below, and smells of cooking were wafting up the stairs. As Sarah sat on the edge of the bed, readying herself to go downstairs, another wave of nausea hit, this time accompanied by a terrible cramping pain. She bent double, whimpering. After a few minutes she straightened up slowly, praying that whatever it was had passed, and after five more minutes she cautiously attempted to rise. The time she was successful and she reached the top of the stairs before the cramps struck once more, making her sink to her knees.
‘Gran,’ she called, once the worst of the pain had passed, but she lacked strength and her voice barely rose above a whisper. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth with the effort of trying again. ‘Gran.’ This time the call was loud enough to carry down the stairs and she heard her grandmother pause in her conversation with Alice.
‘Sarah?’ Her grandmother had appeared at the foot of the stairs, calling back in response whilst keeping half an eye on Alice in the kitchen. Ada turned to look upwards, as if to listen for a reply, and visibly started as, once her eyes had grown accustomed to the gloom, she made out Sarah’s crumpled figure. ‘Good heavens!’ Ada began to mount the stairs. ‘Whatever is wrong?’
It was late that night before Ada rose from beside Sarah’s bed and told her that there was nothing more to be done.
‘The baby is lost,’ she said. ‘Now you must concentrate on regaining your strength because you have a lively, healthy daughter to care for.
There’ll be time enough for another child when that husband of yours is out of prison. You may yet come to see this as a blessing – for now, try to sleep.’
Sarah heard her through a haze of pain and exhaustion, drifting into a deep sleep as Ada gathered bloodied cloths and towels together and left the room. She woke at dawn, hearing rain beating against the windowpane and, before the household awoke, she wept for the loss of her baby, of her hopes and for her marriage. On that September morning the world seemed to Sarah Bancroft like a very hard place indeed.
Chapter 41
Sarah’s emotions veered between anger and sadness in the days to come. She was angry with Joe for having been foolish enough to get caught stealing, leaving her alone in this way to deal with the loss of their baby. Then, as she got on with day-to-day life with Alice, sadness would overwhelm her. There would be no brother or sister for Alice now, not for a very long time. This feeling then precipitated the onset of anger at Joe and his folly, and so it went on. She both dreaded and longed for the arrival of Daniel, fearful that she would be unable to disguise her unstable emotions but also longing for the distraction that he would provide.
Daniel arrived at midday on the Saturday, carrying a bag over his shoulder. He proceeded to unpack it, revealing all manner of goods from the shops in Manchester. It felt a bit like Christmas all over again, Sarah thought. She wondered briefly whether Ada had written to him, explaining what had befallen the family, and perhaps the gifts were a special effort to cheer her up. Daniel didn’t seem unduly solicitous towards her, though: he was absorbed in showing Alice a wind-up toy he had brought for her. Sarah was just thinking how much she would like to take a closer look at it when Daniel looked up and said, ‘My work will bring me to Northwaite more often in the future.’
Ada, who was setting plates out for dinner, paused and waited for him to continue.
‘The owner of my mill in Manchester has joined forces with other mill-owners in the area to try out a new type of engine for power. Hobbs’ Mill is one of the main partners in this, so I will be spending more time here in weeks to come.’
Ada positively beamed at the news and was quick to insist that Daniel must stay with them at Lane End Cottage whenever he was in Northwaite.
‘I couldn’t impose on your hospitality like that,’ he protested. ‘I will stay at the inn but will visit you every time I’m in Northwaite, of course.’
Sarah had said very little since Daniel’s arrival but now she spoke up. ‘You would be doing us a favour if we could provide you with board and lodging, rather than the inn. I don’t know whether Ada has told you what has befallen me? With regard to Joe,’ she added hastily, catching the sharp look her grandmother directed her way.
Daniel, who had been crouched on the floor with Alice, sat back on his heels. ‘I hope he is not ill?’ he asked, concerned.
‘Would that were the case,’ Ada muttered.
Sarah ignored her. ‘No. I’m afraid to say …’ She hesitated, feeling the shame in what she was about to reveal. ‘I’m afraid to say that he has been imprisoned.’
Daniel rose to his feet, causing Alice to protest at the loss of her playmate. ‘I am indeed very sorry to hear that,’ he said gravely. ‘I cannot believe he has done anything of consequence. I hope you may expect to be reunited very soon.’
‘His offence is hardly great,’ Sarah said with some bitterness, ‘but the punishment is harsh.’ She went on to outline what had happened, glad all at once to share the burden with someone else.
‘I am very sorry,’ Daniel repeated, when he had heard her out. ‘Justice seems prepared to strike at the man of little means the hardest. Is there anything I can do?’ He looked doubtfully at Sarah. ‘I do not think that Leeds jail will be a suitable place for you to find yourself. Can I visit him on your behalf?’
‘I’m resigned to hearing little from him, other than the four letters a year we are allowed to exchange,’ Sarah said. ‘I will apply to visit but have been told not to expect that the request will be automatically granted.’
No more was said on the subject as Ada declared dinner should be served. Sarah was happy to concentrate on getting food on the table and avoid any further discussion about what had happened to Joe. It felt like there were too many things that must be kept hidden from Daniel during his visit. Talk turned to how they were settling in, and after dinner Sarah washed up while Ada proudly showed Daniel what they had achieved in the house and garden since his last visit.
Sunday proved to be a windy but strangely sunny day, still with a hint of warmth unusual for autumn. To Sarah and her grandmother’s surprise, Daniel announced his intention of attending church that morning. He hadn’t done so when he had stayed with them before and Sarah had made the assumption that he wasn’t a churchgoer. He looked as though he felt his actions required an explanation.
‘I took to going after Ellen died,’ he explained. ‘At first I was very irregular in my attendance, but gradually I found I took comfort from it and now I would miss it if I didn’t go.’
Ada and Sarah saw him off and welcomed him back without comment but, while he was away, each was occupied with her own thoughts. Sarah wondered how different things might have been if her sister had lived. No doubt she and Daniel would be married by now; perhaps even with a family. Ellen might have been able to give up working at the mill as Daniel’s prospects improved. Perhaps they might even have lived in Northwaite since Daniel’s work increasingly brought him here. Her sister living in the same place as her again – how wonderful would that have been!
In her imagination Sarah once more saw the fields where they had played as children, filled with sunshine on a summer’s day. This time, the children in the field belonged to her and Ellen, and she was leaning over the gate with her sister, watching them and laughing about the time they had tried to pick all the flowers in the field. Her daydream was so absorbing that it was an effort to pull herself back to the present and to the realisation that this could never be.
For her part, Ada felt chastened by Daniel’s church attendance. She hadn’t set foot in the Methodist chapel since the deaths of her daughter and granddaughters, and the minister’s visit in March hadn’t persuaded her otherwise. She fell to ruminating on the loss of her faith and, like Sarah, her thoughts turned to her lost family. She felt little hope that Mary’s future would have been a bright one, but the loss of her granddaughters so young was a bitter blow.
If Ellen had lived, it was inconceivable that she and Daniel wouldn’t have married. Daniel’s place would have been cemented within the family. As it was, he was a welcome visitor and always seemed content to spend time with them, but that would no doubt change once he found a bride. Ada was struck by the thought that he might even meet someone suitable during his visit to the church – one of the village girls, someone who worked at the mill, perhaps. Ada tried to suppress a shudder. Daniel deserved happiness, but selfishly she would have liked to keep him as part of their family.
If Daniel sensed a sombre mood on his return to the house he made no comment, instead turning his attention to Alice who, no sooner had he stepped through the door, was laughing in delight and holding her arms out to him.
‘Look, it’s Uncle Daniel,’ Sarah said, conscious that he was now the only man in Alice’s life. She would need to reinforce this idea, otherwise Alice would perhaps start to think that Daniel was her father. The new title conferred upon him must have made the same idea occur to Daniel, for he flushed slightly but covered up his discomfort by entering into a noisy game of tickling with Alice.
After dinner, Daniel suggested that they might take a walk as the weather was still fine. By mutual agreement, they turned left out of the gate, heading out of the village before taking the steep path down into the valley. As they descended, the air grew cooler and Sarah was glad they had all wrapped up warmly, despite the sunshine. Alice was sitting on Daniel’s shoulders and at first Sarah cried out a warning every time they approached a branch hanging low. Then, seei
ng what care he was taking of his precious burden, she let him alone.
Alice squealed in delight as they went along, unused to the view afforded by such an elevated seat and thrilled by the novelty of the expedition. Sarah lagged behind so that she could watch the progress of the little group. Daniel led the way, calling back a running commentary to Ada: ‘Mind the branch,’ ‘Watch out for the brambles,’ ‘Loose stones here.’ Ada looked happier than Sarah could ever remember seeing her.
Sarah felt a terrible pang. This should be Joe walking together with Alice yet, even as the thought struck, she knew Joe would never have suggested such a walk and, even if he had, Ada would never have joined them.
‘Joe,’ she whispered, as the group ahead of her descended further down the path and passed out of view. ‘Joe, why have you left me alone?’
‘Sarah!’ The calls floated back along the path. ‘Sarah. Where are you?’
‘Coming,’ she called, shaking off her melancholy and hurrying to catch up.
‘I had a stone in my boot,’ she offered by way of explanation when she joined them. They had reached the broad, dark pool at the bottom of the valley, the one where Sarah always believed that spirits must dwell. Although, now she thought about it, that was probably a story told to her and her sisters to stop them straying this far alone. No one would have wanted to be worrying about them falling into the water in such a remote spot.
Daniel, knowing none of this, was busy telling Alice that it was home to fairies. ‘Look.’ He pointed to where skeins of traveller’s joy were festooned around low branches of the trees edging the pool. ‘Fairy bowers. They sleep here by day and when dusk falls they come out to bathe and drink.’
Sarah wasn’t sure how much Alice could understand of this but her daughter was wriggling so much in Daniel’s arms that she was fearful she might fall in the water. Daniel had tight hold of her, though, and distracted her by pointing out what he called the fairy slide where the passage of feet had worn the path on the hillside into smooth grey undulations, which it took little to reimagine as a fairy playground.
Sarah's Story Page 18
