by Anna Jacobs
He was grinning at her, reassured, looking like the old Tom again. “Of course I do! But not just carry on – I want to expand, try out a few new things. Did you know that old Mr Thomas had died? It’s an ill wind! His widow wants to sell his scrap business. She’s given me first refusal. I’ve got some money saved, but not enough. I wondered – would you like to invest in an up-and-coming young scrap merchant?”
“I might. I’d have to look at the figures carefully. But for Sally, I couldn’t have done it; I’d have needed all my money for my dressmaking salon.”
“But now … ?”
“Now it might well be possible.”
He was fiddling with the material of his shirt sleeve. “You wouldn’t have to worry about me, Annie. It’d be honest trade. You do believe that, don’t you?”
“Yes, love. I know that sort of thing’s all in the past now.”
“I’ve grown up a lot lately, Annie.” There was silence for a few moments, then he said slowly, “It makes you think, doesn’t it, when you see what can happen, when you see how quickly folk can be snuffed out.”
“Yes. It’s been a bad winter. In fact, I don’t know what I’d have done without you since Charlie died last year, Tom.”
He pulled a face at her to hide his feelings. “Come on, then. Let’s have a look at these calculations of yours. You an’ your breakjaw words! You’ve got me talkin’ fancy half the time now. What have you decided to do? I suppose we’ll be going to live at Netherleigh Cottage?”
“Of course! Where else? You can give Benworth his notice tomorrow. He’ll complain, but he’s to be out as soon as possible.”
“He can complain as much as he wants! It’s your house.”
“So – the only problem is what to do about Dad and the children.”
He looked at her suspiciously. “What do you mean by that?”
She answered him obliquely. “How’s he managing?”
“Not so well. You know what he’s like. He needs a woman to look after him. Young Rebecca’s been doing her best and Mark’s got his head screwed on all right, but they’d be in a right old mess if Kathy hadn’t helped out. We’ll need to sort out something permanent for him before we leave or he’ll be getting himself married again.”
She smiled. “Bridie says his trousers rule his head.”
“I wouldn’t have put it so politely myself, but I have to agree.”
“Tom – I’ve already thought out what to do.” She took a deep breath, knowing he wouldn’t agree with what she was going to say. “They’ll have to come and live with us at Netherleigh Cottage.” She braced herself to meet his anger.
“What! Oh, no! I’m not havin’ that! You can just get that idea right out of your head, Annie Ashworth!”
“But Tom …”
“No! I’m not having it! It’s his job to provide for his family, not ours! We’ll never get rich if we have that lot hangin’ round our necks!”
“They need us. We can’t let them down. Tom, they’re our family.”
“Well, I don’t need them! And nor do you! They’re not bloody comin’ an’ that’s flat!”
“They are.” She spoke quietly, but firmly. “Besides – I think it’ll be a good thing.”
“A good thing! A good thing, she says! A pack of bleedin’ kids to feed, that stupid Emily’s brats, and you call it a good thing! You’ve gone mad, Annie! Your brains are addled. You’d better go and spend a few more weeks on the farm and really recover. I never heard of such a stupid idea! Live with us, indeed!”
She took his hand. “Listen, Tom. Just listen for a minute instead of shouting. See if we can’t turn the situation to our advantage.”
He muttered something, pulled his hand away and leaned back in his chair, his face still hostile.
“You said yourself that Mark’s got his head screwed on all right. He has! He’s a clever lad. You’re going to need people to help you run your business and who better than your own family?”
“It’s men I’ll need, men with muscles, not twelve-year-old lads!”
“You can’t see beyond the end of your nose sometimes, Tom Gibson! I’m not talking about now; I’m talking about in a few years’ time. He can start learning the trade. He’ll do well, will Mark, given a bit of help and encouragement.”
“He might,” Tom admitted grudgingly, “but Luke’s another kettle of fish. I sometimes wonder if he isn’t a bit short up top. I’m not having him in my business!”
“He’s only eleven. We’ll have to see. Perhaps he’ll need to stay on at school for a bit. I’m sure he’ll improve, now he hasn’t got Emily nagging at him. She never had a good word to say to him. No wonder he’s so nervous!”
“Nervous! He’s not nervous; he’s downright slow!”
“He’s not. He’s a nice lad.”
“Nice or not, he’s another mouth to feed and another body to clothe.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Has Dad still got his job at the mill or hasn’t he?”
“Yes, of course he has!”
“Then I imagine he’ll be bringing in enough money to feed and clothe the children. He doesn’t throw his wages away on booze, like some. He hasn’t touched a drop of gin since Mam died. All he needs is a bit of baccy for his pipe, an odd glass of ale, and he’s happy. You have to admit that!”
“I suppose so.”
“It’s not charity I’m offering them, you know. They’ll all have to help.”
He grunted.
“As for Rebecca, she can help Kathy in the house. Kathy’ll train her properly, not like Emily. She can learn to sew, too, perhaps come as an apprentice to me. And I’ll make sure she can read and write properly. I know they’ve all learned their letters at Sunday School, the older ones anyway, but they can hardly string two words together. Emily neglected those children shamefully. They’re pig ignorant, poor things. It’s more than time someone took them in hand. And they are our brothers and sisters, whether you like it or not!”
“Half-brothers and sisters. And no doubt Kathy’ll be happy to look after little Joan as well? She’ll love having a snotty-nosed five-year-old hanging on her skirts. That Joan is a sniveller.”
“Only because she’s been neglected. Besides, I think Kathy will enjoy looking after her. Kathy loves children. Look how she dotes on William! I do hope she gets married one day. She’d make a wonderful wife and mother.”
“You’ve got it all planned out, haven’t you?”
“I told you I had. The only thing I hadn’t worked out was how I was going to find the money for everything. And,” her voice faltered for a minute, “Sally’s solved that problem for me.”
He looked at her wonderingly and she could see the first signs that he was beginning to come round. “You’re a marvel, our Annie. Doesn’t any of this frighten you? You’ll be risking everything, taking on heavy responsibilities …”
She shook her head, her expression guarded. “No, it doesn’t frighten me. I don’t really think that there’s much risk at all. The junk business is well established. If Mr Thomas is dead, you’ll have no competition to worry about when you want to expand. I think, Tom, that if you don’t get what you want from life in one way – well, you have to turn elsewhere. I don’t think I’m cut out for love and marriage, but I am a good businesswoman, and I intend to make the best of that. I shan’t let the second-hand clothes business go, either. Every bit of money helps. Alice can supervise that for me, perhaps. I’ll work something out.”
“Annie, you’ll need more than luck to succeed in a high-class business,” he warned. “The gentry can be awkward customers. They want value for money, just like anyone else. An’ if they take a huff, you’re in trouble.”
She smiled confidently. “Oh, they’ll get good value, never fear. I’m not relying on luck. I’m good at dressmaking, really good. And I’ll have several strings to my bow, with the second-hand stuff and your junk yard. No, Tom Gibson, it’ll be hard work and clever ideas that’ll get us rich, not luck.”
> “Well, we’ve never been frightened of hard work, have we?”
“No. And about Dad …?”
He looked at her in exasperation. “You’ll do what you want, whatever I say, so what’s the use? Have you – er – told him yet?”
“No.”
“You don’t think there’s a chance that he’ll refuse?”
“No. Why should he?”
“Why should he, indeed? No one looks a gift horse in the mouth.” He pulled her to her feet. “Come on, then, we might as well go and talk to him now. I want to see his face when you tell him.” A grin crept over his face.
“What are you thinking of now, Tom?”
He chuckled. “The poor old sod won’t know what’s hit him when he comes to live with you after over twelve years of dear Emily!”
She ignored the sarcasm, linked her arm in his and rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “Thanks, Tom.” Then she straightened up and her eyes began to sparkle in a way they hadn’t done for years. “And after we’ve seen Dad, it’ll still be light enough to take a stroll into town. I want to have a good look round. I need to find a place for my dressmaking salon, somewhere near the centre, but with a good address.”
“Salon, is it? I thought you’d be working from home.”
“Not me! I’m going to have the fanciest salon you’ve ever laid eyes on, just like those that Mrs Lewis took me to in London. I’m going to have the ladies of Bilsden falling over one another to order their dresses from me! I’m going to get really rich, Tom!” And she was going to do it on her own. A picture of Danny crept into her mind, but she pushed it firmly aside. She was an independent woman and would make her own way in life. Just let anyone try to stop her!
About the Author
Anna Jacobs grew up in Lancashire and emigrated to Australia, but still visits the UK regularly to see her family and do research, something she loves. She is addicted to writing and figures she’ll have to live to be 120 at least to tell all the stories that keep popping up in her imagination and nagging her to write them down. She’s also addicted to her own hero, to whom she’s been happily married for many years. Anna Jacobs’ novel PRIDE OF LANCASHIRE won the Australian Romantic Book of the Year Award in 2006.
