by Diane Allen
This book is dedicated to my family, especially my husband Ronnie, who is always there, no matter what life throws at us. My daughter Lucy, her husband Steven, Amy our little princess, Ben the newest member of our family, also my son Scott and his wife Zoe and their children, the beautiful Amelia and Ollie, our little soldier.
I’d like to thank good friends Helen Bibby and Hilda Stronach for their encouragement and help. Also Judith Murdoch and Wayne Brookes, to whom along with my readers I owe everything.
Contents
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1
Yorkshire Dales, 1912
The screams carried up into the high pasture – agonizing, soul-stripping screams. Alice sat, hands covering her ears; she just couldn’t bear it any longer. When was it going to end? Surely the doctor could make it stop? In defiance of the screams she kicked her boot into the hard, frost-filled ground, not bothering that the solid earth hurt her foot.
Bess Bentham’s husband and children had watched helplessly as her condition deteriorated, turning her from a beautiful buxom woman to a frail, skeletal form. For months she had struggled to perform chores around the farm or look after her family. The aged country doctor’s fees were something they could ill afford, so Bob Bentham had delayed as long as possible before sending for him. With hindsight, the family wished he had acted sooner.
Alice, the younger of the two Bentham children, sat behind the tall pasture wall that backed onto the great high-reaching peak of Whernside. She was a stubborn child, a true Bentham, Dales bred, proud and too feisty for her own good – just like her father, or so her mother had often told her. When she was in one of her moods, she’d a face on her that could turn milk sour. Now, as her mother lay dying, she was angry at the whole world and knew no other way than to take it out on the frozen earth that her mother would soon be buried under.
Shivering, Alice got to her feet, pulling her jerkin around her; the bottom of her skirt was stiff where she had got it wet going through the farmyard. It was November and bitterly cold; already the highest points of Whernside were capped with a covering of snow. Shoving her fingerless-mittened hands into her pockets, she looked towards the farm and thought about her mother lying on her deathbed. Much as she wanted to be by her mother’s side, Alice couldn’t have endured another minute in the low-beamed house. For days, the smell of death had filled every nook and cranny, making it unbearable. When the doctor had finally been summoned to concoct potions to ease the pain, Alice had taken her chance to flee. She sighed and shook her head, remembering the look on her father’s face as he told her to come back indoors. Instead she had slammed the kitchen door and run as fast as her legs would carry her. Didn’t he realize she had to get away, if only for a minute or two? All she wanted was to escape the sorrow and to breathe the clear, fresh air on the fellside.
The screaming stopped suddenly and was replaced with a deathly silence. Alice could hear her heart beating; the pounding was so strong, it felt as if it was escaping through her chest wall. The breath from her mouth came out in pure white clouds as she waited for further sounds from home. But the farm was silent now, so terribly silent. A snowflake fluttered to earth and Alice was listening so intently she could have sworn she heard it land. Gathering her skirts around her, she got up and ran, slipping and almost tumbling as she raced along the cobbled droving road. By the time she reached the farmyard she was fighting for breath, her face flushed from the cold air biting at her cheeks and her haste to reach her dying mother.
‘Miss Alice . . .’ Dr Bailey bowed his head. It pained him, having to break the news to this young lass, knowing how the words he was about to say would change her life. ‘I’m afraid your mother died a few minutes ago. You have my condolences. Now, go and join your father and brother. I’m sure you will find comfort in one another’s grief.’
His face was grey and sombre as he mounted the gig, pulling a wool blanket over his knees to guard against the bitter wind before lifting the whip to stir the two patient bays into motion. He paused for a moment, as if uncertain whether to offer guidance, then said, ‘Your mother loved you. She’d have wanted you to show the same love to your father and brother, so you must be strong now for her sake. I’ll stop by and tell Mrs Batty of your loss – you’ll need her help to lay your mother out.’ And with that he tipped his hat and whipped the team into motion, the gig swaying from side to side as it descended the rocky path towards the village of Dent.
Alice watched the gig until it turned out of the yard. Tears filled her eyes, and no matter how she tried she couldn’t keep them from rolling down her cheeks. She hadn’t meant to leave her mum; all she’d wanted was a moment’s peace – surely Mum would have known that? Her hand trembled as she lowered the catch on the oak door into the kitchen. If she could have turned and run away, she would have, but she had to be brave. Wiping her nose with the back of her mitten, she stuck out her chin, swiped away the tears that would not stop falling, and entered the kitchen of Dale End Farm.
‘So, you’ve decided to show your face, then? Your mother asked for you with her dying breath, and where were you? I’ll tell you where you were – up that bloody fell, like a raggle-taggle gypsy child.’ Bob Bentham was angry with his daughter, but secretly he was even angrier with himself for not getting the doctor to his wife sooner. He turned away from Alice and spat a mouthful of saliva mixed with black chewing tobacco into the fire, making it hiss. Then he reached for his pipe and tobacco tin from above the mantel. ‘You’d better go and say your goodbyes now, before old Ma Batty gets here.’
Alice stayed where she was, trembling and snivelling, head bowed, not wanting to go up the darkening stairs.
‘Now then, our Alice, come on. I’ll go up with you.’ Will, her big brother, put his arm around her in sympathy. Hard as it was for him, he knew that for a sixteen-year-old it must be even worse. Bowing his head, his lanky body too tall for the low roof of the homely kitchen, he led her towards the stairs.
‘I’m frightened, our Will. I’ve never seen a dead person before.’ Alice’s body shook as Will squeezed her tight.
‘It’s not the dead ’uns that hurt you, lass, it’s the buggers that are wick that does that,’ Bob said sharply, his eyes never leaving the fire.
Will held Alice’s hand as they climbed the creaking wood stairs to their parents’ room. Downstairs, she could hear her father muttering to himself and riddling the fire embers; he was cross with her and it’d take him time to come round.
The oil lamp next to the bed was burning and, with the coming of the night and the dark snowy skies closing in, shadows from the flames were leaping on the dim walls, creating sprites that danced on the whitewashed stone. Alice turned her remorseful gaze to her mother’s corpse. Bess seemed at peace, her long hair loose around her alabaster skin.
‘Do you think our mum’s in heaven now?’ Alice asked, wondering if her mother could still see her and hear her.
‘I’m sure she is. She’s probably looking down on us and blowing kisses.’ Will gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. ‘Time to say your goodbyes, our Ali. Give her a kiss – she’d like that.’
‘If Mum is in heaven, she knows I should have
been with her instead of sitting up the fell. She won’t love me any more.’ Tears began to fall from Alice’s eyes and she started sobbing, grief taking over her small, crumpled body.
‘Yes, she’ll know you were up the fell, but she wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. You always were headstrong, Mum knew that. That’s why it’s our job to look after Father. She asked that of us with her dying breath. So, don’t you worry, she loved you for the spirited person that you are – she told me so.’
Alice controlled her sobbing for a brief moment and bent to kiss her mother’s brow. Already the skin was cold and bluish white. The brief contact made her feel sick and her legs turned to jelly. What was she going to do without her mother? She almost dissolved into sobs again, but by holding her breath and blowing her nose she managed to bring her emotions under control.
‘There, our lass, she knows you loved her. Go and brush your hair, then come downstairs and make some supper before Mrs Batty gets here. She’ll want to lay Mum out in the parlour while her husband brings the coffin. Reckon it’ll be down to us to get everything ready – Father doesn’t seem up to it. I’ll see to the parlour while you do us all some bacon and eggs. We’ve not eaten all day, and you know Mother – she wouldn’t have wanted that, now, would she?’
‘I did love her, our Will.’ Resolving to pull herself together and stop sniffling, Alice placed her hands on her hips and announced: ‘Don’t worry, I will look after everybody as Mother would have wanted. I’ll not let Father down again.’ With that, she went off to her bedroom to tidy herself.
Will ran his hand along the banister, ducking his head to avoid the low ceiling above the stairs.
‘Is she all right – our lass?’ Bob asked his son. ‘I was a bit hard on her when she came waltzing in. I was angry, what with her mother having asked for her, and Alice not there.’ Bob knew his own faults, one of which was a tendency to be too hasty with his words. A fault that he could also see in Alice; it even made him smile sometimes, the fact that she was so like him.
‘She’s all right, Father. Alice was with Mum in her own way; she was just upset. You know how she always goes and hides up behind that top wall in the high pasture when things get too much for her.’ Seeing the pain on his father’s face, Will briskly changed the subject: ‘Now then, I’m going to make the parlour ready while Alice fixes some supper for us all. Why don’t you have a rest; it’s been a difficult day for you. I know you’re going to miss Mother, but we’ll always be here to see to things.’
‘Aye, I don’t know what I’ll do without her, our lad. My Bess was everything to me, and I let her down. I should have got the doctor. Brass isn’t worth anything compared to them you love.’ Bob sighed and put his head in his hands.
‘We’ll be all right, Father,’ said Will, patting his father on the shoulder. ‘Our Alice is nearly a woman and a good hand about the place, and with my job at the big house, we’ll get by. The last thing Mother would have wanted is for you to be upset.’ Hearing Alice come down the stairs, Will turned. ‘Are you all right, our Ali?’
‘I’m fine. I’ll go and make us something to eat.’ Alice felt shaky and she knew she was white as a sheet, but she had to be grown-up and handle the situation like a woman. The family needed her.
‘That’ll be grand, Alice.’ Her father tried to force a smile. ‘You’re not a bad lass. I’m sorry I shouted at you – it was the shock of losing your mother. Do you want me to cut you some bacon off the flitch in the dairy? I’ll do that while you go out and see if the hens have laid us some fresh eggs. If you can feed them at the same time, that would be a grand help.’
‘I’ll do that, Father, you don’t have to ask. I’ll feed Jip, too – poor old dog will be wondering what’s happened. He got overlooked this morning.’
Taking her shawl from behind the door, Alice wrapped it around her. Then, determined to show her dad that she was not going to let him down, she drew herself to her full height, opened the back door and stepped out into the bitter evening air.
Outside, it was still trying to snow and the sky was heavy and threatening. Having made sure the dog was fed, Alice moved on to the hen hut to check for eggs and to feed the clucking brown birds. The smell of poultry and the warmth of the tarred hut made her remember how, as a child, she used to collect eggs with her mother. The memory conjured an image of Mum laughing as Alice hid behind her skirts because she was frightened of the one hen that always was too curious for its own good. Forcing herself to focus on the present, Alice checked the nesting boxes for eggs: only half a dozen, but that would do for supper. She’d heard Dad say that they hadn’t been laying so well because of the cold weather. Making a pocket in her shawl to put them in, she closed the hut door behind her.
She was turning to make her way back to the house when Mr and Mrs Battys’ cart arrived, with her mother’s cheap, rough-made coffin strapped on the back. Alice looked at it, hoped it was strong enough to protect her mother from the cold, dark earth. It was a pauper’s coffin, probably not even the right size for her mother’s frail body. Tears came to her eyes and a feeling of bitterness filled her stomach. One day, she vowed, she would have money. No one she loved would ever again be given a pauper’s funeral. And no one she loved would die for want of cash to pay a doctor. She would make certain of that.
The light from the kitchen spilled out onto the dour couple as they carried the shabby coffin into the house. Alice lingered in the yard, watching as Will pulled the curtains in the parlour – when she caught herself referring to the shabby living room as a parlour, Alice smiled; her mother had always called it ‘her parlour’, furnishing it as posh as money would allow. It might not have chandeliers and sparkling crystal ornaments like the manor, but Mum had kept it spotless and loved. It was only right that she would be laid to rest in there for folk to pay their respects.
Alice delayed a while longer, sheltering inside the barn, giving old Mrs Batty time to make her mother respectable and for the coffin to be carried into the parlour. She’d have stayed there until the sickeningly pious Battys had gone, but eventually the cold drove her into the kitchen to face them.
‘Ah, Alice – we were wondering where you’d got to.’ Bob looked at her with concern.
‘I was just making sure all was fed, Father. And I closed the barn doors before the snow comes.’ Having placed the eggs in a dish and hung her shawl up, she turned to look at the couple who dealt in death. ‘Mr and Mrs Batty, thank you for seeing to our needs and being so quick bringing the coffin.’ It cost her an effort to be polite; she felt more like spitting the words at them. In her mind’s eye she pictured the Battys’ yard with its ugly pile of coffins, hastily thrown together and left out there in all weathers, until some poor soul like her mother needed burying. These coffins were meant for the poor. The lovingly polished oak coffins intended for the posh folk of the dale could only be seen if you peered through the door leading to the workshop.
‘Aye, you’ve got a grand lass here, Bob.’ Ernie Batty smacked his hands together, his ample body slumping into a kitchen chair. ‘A right polite bit of a lass.’
‘We were sorry to hear of your mother’s death, Alice.’ Hilda Batty put her arm around Alice. ‘She’s at peace now, my dear. I’ve made her look so pretty, at rest in her coffin.’
Cringing at the old woman’s hand of death resting on her skin, Alice moved away on the pretext of getting supper ready.
‘Right then, Bob, we’ll be on our way.’ Ernie Batty heaved himself to his feet. ‘Now, you know I don’t want to ask this,’ he said, his face turning sombre, ‘but I need paying for the coffin, and my old lass here will expect a bit of something for laying your good lady out.’
‘Tha’ll get the money. You can take this for your bother now and I’ll give you the rest at the end of the month when our Will gets paid.’ Scowling, Bob reached up to the tin cashbox kept above the fireplace. Opening it up, he threw what coins he had onto the table. ‘I’ve always been a man of my word, tha knows that.’ The
cheek of the man! Asking for his money before his wife was even cold, let alone buried. ‘Alice, open that door and see Mr and Mrs Batty out.’ The sooner they were gone, the faster he and his family could grieve in peace.
‘With pleasure, Father.’ Alice darted to the door, eager to get rid of the predatory couple.
‘Our condolences once again.’ Ernie bowed his head as he left the building, his wife shoving him out of the door as he tried to count the handful of coins.
The snow was falling steadily now. There was a good covering on the ground already, the wind whipping it up into white blankets over the walls. As their horse and cart set off down the lane, the sound of Mrs Batty chastising her husband for having no tact could be heard above the howling of the wind.
Alice put her arm around her father. ‘Never mind, Father. We’ll manage. We will get the money some end up.’
‘I know, lass. Grovelling old devil – fancy asking for his brass straight away. Now, I’m going to have five minutes with your mother. I need to talk to her.’
Patting Alice on the shoulder, Bob turned and wearily made his way into the parlour and his beloved Bess.
Alice went to join Will, who had been sitting quietly next to the fire since letting in the Battys. ‘One day I’m going to have so much money that people like the Battys will have to grovel to me, same way they expected our father to grovel to them tonight. You’ll see, Will: my parlour will be a proper parlour with maids and servants, and I’ll be a lady.’
Will looked up. ‘Alice, does that really matter? We’ve just lost our mother, Father’s in mourning, and at the moment we haven’t a penny – so stop thinking of your bloody self for once.’
Alice flicked her long blonde hair from out of her face and got up to start supper. Why did people always get her wrong? She wasn’t thinking only of herself; she was thinking of all of them and the parlour they were going to share.
It was five long days before they could bury poor Bess. The snow had fallen for forty-eight hours, covering the dale with a white blanket so thick that it made travel impossible, and digging a grave was out of the question. When the mourning family did finally manage the journey down the rough stony track into the little churchyard of Dent village, it was raining. The rain added to the greyness of the day, bringing with it encircling mists.
