For The Sake of Her Family

by Diane Allen

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, but I reckon she will be best suited to living in the village. She can come and visit Miss Nancy anytime she pleases, in addition to the day we have agreed to. You have my word on that. But she’ll be staying at the Moon Inn.’ Will may not have been able to save the farm, but he would continue to look after his little sister’s best interests; he owed her that.

  ‘Very well. We’ll leave it that way for now. Perhaps you’ll change your mind in time.’ Setting his hat hard upon his head, he turned towards the door. ‘As for your own future – I have great plans for you. Once this business with the farm is sorted out, I’ll be taking you up to Stone House. I have a little job for you at the marble works.’ Without so much as a backward glance at the worried look on Will’s face, he was gone.

  Hearing the door close, followed by the clatter of hooves, Alice hurried downstairs to find Will. He was sitting in what used to be their father’s chair, head in hands. At the sound of the bottom stair creaking with Alice’s weight, he looked up.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ali. I’m so sorry. I tried, but you can’t argue with the man who holds all the cards. And now the bastard is going to make me work at Stone House. I don’t want to go up there. The men there are a bunch of foul-mouthed old navvies, left over from building the railway, and the foreman is the worst of the lot – drunk nine times out of ten and doesn’t give a damn about anyone’s safety. There’s an accident at the marble works nearly every week. What am I to do?’

  Alice sat on the edge of the chair and put an arm around her brother. She’d never seen him in such a state; no matter what they’d had to face, he’d always remained strong and cheerful.

  ‘It isn’t your fault, Will. You did your best for us. We may not have the farm, but as long as we’ve got work and one another, we’ll survive. Just promise me you’ll not leave me. I’ve no one else in the world but you. Promise me, Will – promise me!’ Her face was set; she wanted her brother to know that she was in deadly earnest and this was not a promise to take lightly.

  Will lifted his head, eyes red with tears. For all that he was a grown man of nineteen, it was hard fighting battles that he could not win, leading a life that he had no control of. Meeting his sister’s gaze, he felt his resolve strengthen. ‘I promise, Ali. I’ll always be here for you.’ He gave her a shaky smile. ‘Besides, who ever gets the better of Jack and me? As long as you are safe at the Moon with old Uriah and his wife, we will be all right.’

  ‘That’s better, Will. We Benthams never give in. Why, before you know it you’ll be running that marble works. And I’ll meet a rich gentleman who’ll keep me in a manner befitting my breeding.’ She smiled and dropped a mock curtsy. ‘And then we can both tell old Frankland where to shove his job!’

  In her heart of hearts, Alice was deeply troubled. It had been hard enough losing their parents, but now they had lost their home, the one thing that had kept them together. From now on it was going to be a battle to survive. But she had no doubt whatsoever that she would survive, come hell or high water, because she was a Bentham and a Bentham never gave in – not as long as she had breath in her body, anyway.

  Will Bentham wiped the sweat from his brow. It was almost time to go; just one more job remained to be done, and then he would have to turn his back on his family home. His heart was heavy: the last job was the one he was going to hate the most.

  He looked down into the trusting eyes of old Jip; he’d been a good dog, long in the tooth but faithful to the end. He threaded the string that was to hold Jip to the wood stock tight, so that he couldn’t move his head. Then he patted him and whispered, ‘I’m sorry, old mate.’ Tears filled Will’s eyes as he raised his gun and fired at the farm’s most-loved animal. The dog slumped to the ground and Will untied him, making sure he was dead, and then lovingly carried him up the path to a place where he had seen him sitting in the past, surveying his kingdom. There he had dug a hole just big enough to hold Jip’s body. Laying the dog tenderly down, he slowly filled in the hole, fresh earth and salty tears falling upon the black and white fur until the body was covered.

  ‘I’m sorry, old lad, but you’d not have worked for anyone else – you were too old for anyone to want.’ He stood tall and looked out over the valley. ‘I hate that bastard Frankland. I’ve lost everything, even my bloody dog.’ He wiped his nose and spat, then lifted the spade onto his shoulder and set off down the hill, the dusk closing in around him.

  5

  The attic bedroom of the Moon Inn was squat, to say the least; the only source of light was the skylight and that was overshadowed by the pub’s tall chimneys, which spent nine months of the year belching smoke. The few possessions that Alice had brought with her from Dale End looked strangely out of place in her new home. And was it her imagination or had the Staffordshire pot dogs’ smiles developed a downward tilt? Now ensconced on the small chest of drawers in the corner, they certainly looked much sadder than they had on the mantelpiece in her mother’s parlour. Still, the woollen blanket that her mother had knitted brought a splash of colour, as did the posy of meadow flowers she had picked that morning before leaving home. They brightened up the black iron fireplace where she had placed them, nestled in a vase that had belonged to her grandmother.

  ‘There, Alice, I’ve brought you a jug of water for your morning’s ablutions. I thought you might like this too.’ Mrs Woodhead handed Alice her mother’s carriage clock. ‘It’ll only get broken down in the bar, so let’s have it back where it belongs. Your mother would have wanted that.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Woodhead, that is very thoughtful of you.’ Alice was too choked at this act of kindness to say more. Her hands held the clock lovingly, fingers tracing the outline of its face. Seeing it brought back sweet memories, but also reminded her of everything that had been lost.

  ‘Nay, lass – it’s got a double purpose. You’ll need to know the time if you’re working for us. I want you up bright and early, lighting fires and making breakfasts for Mr Woodhead and any guests that’s staying with us. No use having a dog and barking yourself, is there?’ This was accompanied by a laugh that sounded to Alice very much like a bark. ‘So let’s have you down in the kitchen at five in the morning. Oh, and one other thing: when we are alone, you may call me Annie, but in front of residents and Mr Woodhead, I think we had better be more formal.’ Briskly adjusting her mob cap, which was struggling as usual to confine the abundance of auburn curls, a legacy of her Scottish ancestors, Mrs Woodhead bustled from the room.

  Five o’clock! The only time Alice was ever up that early was when the sun beamed through her window in midsummer, and the combination of clear blue skies and the twitter of swifts compelled her to venture out of doors and up the fellside before anyone else was awake. Now she going to have to do that every morning – not in order to breathe in pure mountain air, but to lay coal fires and prepare other people’s meals, without so much as a glimpse of the outside world.

  As she placed the clock in its new place next to her bed, Alice realized that she would never again see it as a reminder of her old life at the farm. From here on the clock would be her master. She’d be counting off the hours to Sunday lunchtime, her one afternoon of rest; maybe even counting to the day she went to the manor.

  Oh, why had she sat listening on the stairs that terrible evening instead of marching in there and fighting for her birthplace, for her right to remain at Dale End? Alice tightened her fists in frustration, fingers going white and numb with anger. Perhaps working at the Moon hadn’t been the right decision, but for the time being she had no alternative but to put her head down and make the best of it. It would do for now, but she had no intention of remaining in this attic bedroom a moment longer than she had to. When and if an opportunity arose to better herself, she would be ready to grab it with both hands – and damn the consequences.

  ‘Put your back into it, you lazy bugger! No wonder they fecking well call you Glassback Murphy.’ Sean O’Hara wiped his brow with his sleeve; sweat was dripping o
ff him as he oversaw the loading of the marble slab. That Murphy was going to have to go: he was bloody useless. The rest of them weren’t much better. ‘Come on, men – what are you waiting for? Open the sluice gate, damn you. Let’s get this wheel turning. Bloody stuff won’t cut itself!’

  As the crew rushed to obey his commands, the great waterwheel powered the saw into action. About fecking time, thought O’Hara. Sure, hadn’t he been up since the crack o’ dawn getting that chunk o’ stone in place – and what the feck for? All so some rich man in London could have a new fireplace in his dining room, and lean against it hobnobbing with his well-to-do friends. Those types had more money than sense. Sure, what was wrong with an open fire, so long as you’d a tot of whisky in hand?

  There, that was the trickiest part of the job done. He could leave the buggers to it for a while. Boss wouldn’t show up for a few hours yet, so he might as well nip home for a quick nap.

  He was almost at the cottage door when he heard horses’ hooves striking the cobbles of the works yard. Hurrying in the direction of the sound, he found Lord Frankland dismounting from his trap, accompanied by two young men who seemed vaguely familiar, though the Irishman couldn’t remember where he knew them from.

  ‘Ah, O’Hara – just the man.’ He turned to indicate his companions: ‘The tall fellow is Will Bentham; the other is Jack Alderson. I want you to show them around the quarry and mill, and explain to them what it is we do here. Think you can manage that, O’Hara?’

  ‘To be sure, sir.’ Sean eyed the two young men, trying to fathom why they would be wanting a tour around the quarry and works. They didn’t look like management; judging by their clothes, they were a couple of farm lads. Their faces gave nothing away. If anything, they appeared every bit as bemused as he was. ‘Are they to be working for me, sir? Only, I’ve all the men I need, and I—’

  ‘For the time being, I just want them to observe and report back to me. Since taking the place over after the death of my parents, I’ve been too busy with other commitments to give the marble works much attention. It strikes me that a couple of pairs of fresh eyes are needed to judge how efficiently the place operates. I myself will be out of the country for the next few weeks – my business in Russia requires my attention. In the meantime, I expect you to take care of them, O’Hara, and show them everything. And I do mean everything.’ Gerald Frankland tapped the Irishman lightly on the shoulder with the tip of his stick, as if pressing home the message.

  ‘I will, sir. Don’t you worry, sir, I’ll show them how well run Stone House is. I’m sure they’ll be impressed, indeed they will, sir.’ Despite his jovial tone, O’Hara was inwardly seething. The last thing he needed was two wet-behind-the-ears farm boys sticking their noses in and running back to his lordship telling tales. Pair of spies, that’s what they were. So far as O’Hara was concerned, the marble works was running very nicely, thank you; he’d spent the last few years arranging things to his satisfaction. And if these two thought they were going to interfere . . . His thoughts were interrupted by another tap of Frankland’s stick on his shoulder.

  ‘One more thing – these fellows are locals, but they’ll need transport to get to and from their living quarters. See to it that the horse and buggy is at their disposal for the duration of their stay.’

  ‘But, sir, I might need it myself.’ So far as O’Hara was concerned, this was the final insult. His face betrayed his indignation, and the mutinous look in his eye prompted a steely response from Lord Frankland.

  ‘I’ve seen you with that gelding I got you, O’Hara. Good horse, but it doesn’t appear to enjoy being mastered by you. Now, Jack here is my top man when it comes to horses – he might just bring it under control for you.’ He laid a hand on Jack’s shoulder and nudged him slightly to the fore of the group.

  Jack was at a loss what to say. Smiling nervously, his blush getting the better of him, he reached out to shake O’Hara’s hand.

  ‘If you can make anything of that beast, you might as well have him, the flighty bastard!’ O’Hara ignored the outstretched hand. ‘Only thing he understands is the touch of the whip. Ah! You’re welcome to him – go on, take him, fecking useless brute.’ As if to emphasize his contempt for Lord Frankland, his horse and the two cuckoos about to occupy the marble works nest, O’Hara spat on the path, then stormed off in the direction of his cottage.

  ‘Well, boys, you heard what I said.’ Gerald Frankland, unfazed by the Irishman’s wrath, slapped them both on the back. ‘Your silence on the way up here and the look on your faces told me everything I needed to know – the gossip I’ve been hearing about Stone House is true. When I return in a fortnight, I shall expect you to report to me and tell me exactly what is going on here. Don’t let O’Hara bully you – he’s a brute of a man, but he’ll not dare hurt you while he knows you’ve got my support.’

  ‘I’m not happy with this, sir.’ Will looked Gerald Frankland in the eye. Why had he picked him and Jack? They knew nothing of marble works.

  ‘Nonsense, lad, it’ll be the making of you. Right, I’ll be off. I suggest you spend the first couple of days watching and listening, and then start asking questions. Get to know the workers, see what they have to say. By the end of the fortnight, I expect you to be able to tell me everything there is to know about Stone House.’ He mounted the trap and turned his horses in the direction of home. ‘And, Jack, take a good look at that gelding – it was in a bad way last time I saw it.’ With that he whipped the horses into action, and the trap was soon lost in a cloud of dust as it sped off towards the manor.

  Will and Jack watched him depart, feeling like a pair of foundlings abandoned in a hard, dangerous world. Ever since Frankland had first mentioned his intention of sending them to Stone House, they’d been dreading this day. Both lads had assumed they were going to be joining the marble works crew; though neither of them had relished the prospect, it would have been preferable to this. Telling tales on the burly Irishman was risky enough – O’Hara was notorious for his violent temper – but Frankland had forewarned the man. He was going to be watching them like a hawk.

  Will turned to his friend. ‘What do you make of that, Jack? Talk about a carry on! I don’t know if I’m right happy with what he expects us to do. I’m not one for snooping on folk.’

  ‘Before we do anything else, let’s go take a look at that gelding. I don’t like to hear of any animal being bad done to.’ Jack’s soft nature was taking over. ‘As for the rest, I reckon we’ll be all right if we stay together and steer clear of O’Hara. At least we can go back to the manor of a night.’

  ‘OK, we’ll give it a go. But I still think he should do his own dirty work.’ Will had never cared for Gerald Frankland – toffs weren’t to be trusted, as far as he was concerned – and his recent eviction from Dale End Farm had only served to reinforce that view.

  Together they set off up the rough, weed-filled yard in search of the stable. Guided by the reek of rotting manure, they followed their noses until they reached a tall wooden door. When they opened it, vile-smelling remains of what had once been bedding tumbled out onto the yard floor. Peering into the gloom of the stable, they saw what looked to be a decrepit old nag, its back and flanks covered with festering sores and its ribs showing through as if it had been starved for some time. It flinched in fear as Jack entered the stable. Speaking gently all the while, Jack gradually calmed the beast so that he could run his knowing hands over its body and judge its age by checking its teeth. His face was grim and his jaw taut with fury by the time he’d finished. Will couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his mild-natured friend so angry.

  ‘We’re stopping, Will, ’cos of this poor fellow. He looks at least twenty, but he’s only a young ’un. If O’Hara can treat a horse like this, God knows what we’re going to find at the works and quarry. By God, I’d like to do to him what he’s done to this animal, the bastard.’

  Will simply nodded. There was no point arguing: they were stuck with their new job as spi
es for the manor. Life was not going to be comfortable for the next fortnight. Then again, it was only fourteen days. What could happen in fourteen days?

  6

  ‘Now, sir, would we like another dish of porridge?’ Alice smiled sweetly at the toothless leer of Old Todd, a travelling salesman who stopped at the Moon at least once a month, making him the inn’s most regular guest. She swore if he slapped her bottom one more time, she would accidently spill his porridge right down the front of his throbbing breeches. That would cool his ardour for a while, dirty old man!

  She’d only been at the Moon a week when Old Todd, whose lecherous eyes never missed a single move she made, caught her putting some bits of bacon in her apron pocket. Just a few offcuts she was planning to give to Will so he wouldn’t go hungry; they had more food in that place than she’d ever seen in her life, and when she found out they were in the habit of throwing the offcuts away, she didn’t think anyone would mind if she helped herself. But Old Todd had accused her of stealing, and then he’d threatened her, saying if she didn’t come to a ‘little understanding’ with him, he’d tell Annie Woodhead and then she’d be kicked out on the street and everyone in the dale would know she was a thief. Left with no choice, Alice had agreed to his ‘little understanding’ and gone to meet him in the churchyard, where she’d had to endure his fumbling hands on her and his stinking breath. It had been such a relief when he’d packed his bags and departed on his travels, but now he was back, leering at her every time she passed his table. How she hated the sight of him.

  Working at the Moon had opened her eyes to a whole new world. But no matter what went on in the bar or under the Moon’s roof, it stayed there; tittle-tattle was frowned upon. ‘No matter what, keep your mouth closed and get on with your job,’ Mrs Woodhead had told her. Alice had never worked so hard in her life, but still she was thankful for a roof over her head and a full stomach. Annie Woodhead was proving to be a good cook and a fair boss; she always made sure that Alice got her meals and had her privacy in the evening, when all the jobs were done.