Down Weaver's Lane

by Anna Jacobs

  Down Weaver's Lane

  Anna Jacobs

  Hodder Stoughton (2010)

  Tags: Lancashire Saga

  * * *

  Synopsis

  Emmy Carter's mother is a prostitute - and her life has made Emmy determined to avoid the same fate. But Emmy is beautiful, so attracts unwanted attention; her mother's protector has his eye on her, as does evil Marcus Armistead, her employer's nephew. Marcus is excited by Emmy's virginity and has her kidnapped, but Emmy hits him over the head and escapes. Marcus, futher enraged, kills her mother and becomes even more determined to rape Emmy, but the combined efforts of the local parson and Emmy's young suitor manage to keep her safe from harm. Finally Emmy sees Marcus get his just desserts, finds out who her father was, and attains the respectability she has so longed for.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  PART ONE

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  PART TWO

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  EPILOGUE

  CONTACTING ANNA JACOBS

  Down Weavers Lane

  Years of sitting on the stairs - while her mother entertains her ‘visitors’ in their squalid house down the seedy end of Weavers Lane - have taught Emmy Carter that prostitution is a life she must avoid at all costs. But she is a pretty girl, and her efforts to achieve resectability are hindered again and again.

  George Duckworth, her mother’s protector, has always planned to use Emmy as soon as she is old enough. She tries to escape him by working as a maid, but that delivers her into the clutches of a worse evil—her employer’s nephew. Marcus Armistead is about to marry the daughter of the wealthiest family in their small Lancashire town, but that doesn’t stop him pursuing Emmy ruthlessly. He wants her, whatever the cost - to her, and to whoever gets in his way ...

  Also by Anna Jacobs

  Jessie

  Like No Other

  Down Weavers Lane

  The Gibson Family series

  Salem Street

  High Street

  Ridge Hill

  Hallam Square

  Spinners Lake

  The Kershaw Sisters series

  Our Lizzie

  Our Polly

  Our Eva

  Our Mary Ann

  The Settlers series

  Lancashire Lass

  Lancashire Legacy

  The Michaels Sisters series

  A Pennyworth of Sunshine

  Twopenny Rainbows

  Down Weavers Lane

  ANNA JACOBS

  Hodder & Stoughton

  www.hodder.co.uk

  copyright © 2002 by Anna Jacobs

  First published as an Ebook by Hodder & Stoughton in 2010

  The right of Anna Jacobs to be identified as the Author

  of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the

  Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogure record for this title

  is available from the British Library

  Epub ISBN : 9781444714388

  This Ebook produced by Jouve Digitalisation des Informations

  Hodder and Stoughton

  338 Euston Road

  London NW1 3BH

  To Teena Raffa Mulligan,

  another of my lovely writer friends

  PART ONE

  1

  March-April 1826

  Emmy Carter sat on the low wall near the corner of their alley, alone as usual but enjoying the mild sunshine and hugging her knees as she watched the bustle of the busy Manchester street. Her contentment turned to anxiety as she saw her mother come out of their house and say a loving goodbye to George Duckworth, heedless of who was watching them kissing. Why could she not be more careful with her men-friends in public? Even in Little Ireland, where only poor people lived, none of the respectable women would speak to ‘that Carter woman’ or let their children play with her daughter.

  Scowling now, Emmy drummed the heels of her broken-down shoes against the wall and shoved back the hair that was hanging in a matted tangle over her shoulders. It wouldn’t last with this man, any more than it had lasted with the others. Her mother never seemed to pick men who would be faithful or even treat her kindly, and when they went off with other women - as they invariably did - Madge would weep and wail for days, before searching desperately for another protector.

  George Duckworth might be good-looking in a beefy sort of way, though he had a bit of a belly on him, but Emmy never felt comfortable with him. Something about the way he looked at her made her shiver and want to cross her arms protectively in front of her chest. She was glad she had not yet grown a woman’s body and wished she need never do so if it made men look at her like they did her mother.

  She sighed. Why was her mother so besotted with George? Certainly, since he’d been coming to visit, they’d eaten far better than usual because he was generous enough with his money, but Emmy would much rather have gone hungry. She was used to that. It didn’t frighten her. George did.

  He strode off down the street, arms swinging, shapeless felt hat pulled down over his forehead, and Madge twirled round a couple of times as she did when happy about something, then sauntered back into their house with a dreamy smile on her face. Sticking her tongue out at the boy across the road Emmy followed her mother inside, listening to the footsteps echoing up the three flights of rickety stairs above her and trying not to make any noise herself as she followed. It was a game she played with herself sometimes, turning into a shadow. It was useful when she was out after dark.

  ‘There you are! Guess what? We’re moving.’ Madge danced her daughter round the room. ‘Moving, moving, moving - away from this hovel! What do you think of that, eh?’

  Emmy pulled away. ‘But you said we’d be staying here. And these are the best rooms we’ve ever had.’ The attic was large, with room for Madge to sleep in one corner behind a ragged curtain. There was even a tiny room on the other side with a proper door to it. This was the first time Emmy had ever had somewhere of her own to sleep, and even if it was under the slope of the roof and you could only stand up in the middle of it, she loved having somewhere to take refuge when men came to visit her mother. In their last lodgings she’d had to go and sit outside on the stairs whenever her mother had a visitor and it had been cold in winter as well as uncomfortable, with men going up and down the stairs at all hours.

  Madge made a scornful noise in her throat. ‘Well, they’re not the best rooms I’ve ever had. I was born to a decent family with a whole house of our own, a big one. And when I was with your father we lived in style, with four bedrooms and a maid to do the rough work. Why, Emerick would have given me anything I wanted - anything at all! - and
after he died I was so upset they feared for my life and ...’

  Even though she’d heard this story so many times she could have recited it by heart, Emmy didn’t interrupt but lost herself in her own thoughts and let her mother run on. What did it matter if they’d once lived well? She couldn’t remember it. If it was true! All she could remember was going to bed hungry many a time, and wearing old clothes that had holes in until a kind neighbour mended them and taught her to sew when she was five. Which had annoyed her mother so much she had provided Emmy with better clothes from then on. Well, most of the time, anyway.

  Madge’s voice droned on and on, talking about George now. Emmy knew that if she said anything disapproving about him her mother would grow angry and lose that happy expression - and it would not change a thing. When her mother decided on something she never listened to anyone else, let alone considered what might go wrong. No, she just rushed in and did whatever took her fancy. At thirteen going on fourteen, Emmy knew she had far more common sense. She often thought her mother was like a butterfly, fluttering around aimlessly most of the time and never settling for long anywhere.

  Until George appeared in their lives it had been a while since the last regular protector and Emmy had hoped there wouldn’t be another, that her mother would stay in this job which involved singing as well as serving booze. Madge might even - it was the girl’s dearest wish - stop having visitors at night. Emmy hated the men coming to their room, absolutely hated it, especially now they had started looking at her as well.

  What a stupid thing to wish for! Even if they didn’t need the money, her mother didn’t consider life complete without a man and kept fooling herself that one of them would marry her so that she’d be safe. Her mother used that word with such longing it sometimes brought tears into Emmy’s eyes. As far as the girl could see there was no safety anywhere in the world and it was a stupid thing to hope for.

  The ladies at the Mission said this world was a vale of tears and only a preparation for the next life. Emmy had met the ladies three moves ago. They ran a Bible School every Sunday for poor children and she still went there sometimes, even though it was a long walk from here. The ladies gave you bread and cheese if you listened to their stories and learned to sing their hymns. Some of the tunes were nice, but the words were long and Emmy often had no idea what she was singing about. But it was always warm in the Mission and they told you stories from the Bible as well as singing hymns.

  They’d even started teaching Emmy to read and she could now spell out the simpler words and write her name quite clearly. Her mother had laughed at that and for a while it had amused her to practise reading with her daughter, something Madge was really good at. They would spell out words together on a cracked slate she’d brought home one day. Then she’d grown tired of that game, in spite of Emmy’s pleas for more lessons, and the slate had vanished one night in a sudden move.

  ‘Where are we going to live this time, then?’ Emmy asked when at last her mother stopped speaking and sat staring into space.

  ‘Northby, where I grew up. But we won’t be going there for a week or two yet.’

  ‘But you always say you’ll never go back. And we won’t know anyone in Northby. You said your mother and father were dead.’

  ‘Well, I’ve changed my mind about going back, haven’t I? And we’ll know George. He has an alehouse there and it must bring in good money, for he’s never short of a shilling or two. So we’ll be safer there.’

  ‘Are you going to work for him?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Madge sighed and added, ‘You do what you have to in this world, my girl, or else you starve - as you should understand by now.’ She looked at Emmy and added thoughtfully, ‘We’ll have to see if we can get a regular job for you as well. George said he’d help me find one. You’re more than old enough, for all you’re so short and skinny. I was a woman grown at your age, though I’ve always wished I were taller.’ She frowned as she studied Emmy. ‘You’re getting far too pretty for your own good, or you would be if you’d do something with all that hair. We’ll wash it before I go to work and comb out those tangles. But I’m not having you messing around with men, so we’ll keep your skirts short and your tops loose then you’ll still look like a child. It’ll be safer.’

  As if Emmy would mess around with men. She hated them! And if they went to Northby they’d be in George Duckworth’s power, which made her shiver to think of it. Here at least she always felt that if anything happened to her mother she could ask the ladies at the Mission to help her find a place in service. They’d offered to do that already, but she couldn’t leave Madge, who wouldn’t be able to cope on her own. Besides, the two of them had fun together sometimes. No one could make you feel happy like her mother did when she was in a good mood. That was one of the reasons why men liked her.

  When Madge went out to work that night Emmy went to bed and bolted the door of her room from inside. She was not tired and as she lay there staring up at the night sky through the tiny skylight, she kept seeing again the gloating expression on her mother’s face and hearing the boasts about what George had promised to do for them. A whole house of their own, good furniture, nice clothes, plenty to eat ...

  Why should he do all this? It didn’t make sense. He wasn’t a kind man, whatever her mother said. Even Emmy could tell that.

  When she got back from work late that night, Madge Carter checked her daughter’s bedroom door and smiled to find it locked. Lighting a candle, she used it to stare at herself in the specked mirror on the mantelpiece, grimacing at what she saw. One of the younger women had called her a ‘silly old bugger’ tonight. She wasn’t old, not really, but she wasn’t young, either. She’d been pretty once and it upset her to see the wrinkles round her eyes, the faded colour of her hair and the sagging skin under her chin. Emmy looked very like the way her mother had in her youth and the contrast made Madge feel worse about herself. Her daughter had the same light brown hair falling in waves about her shoulders, though her eyes were hazel with gold flecks like her father’s had been, not blue like her mother’s. Emerick had had such pretty eyes for a man.

  Madge sighed as she moved away from the mirror. In the daytime men no longer looked at her as she walked by, though she could still pass for pretty in night’s kinder shadows. But once your looks faded you had no chance of bettering yourself. George was her last chance, she was quite sure of that. If she didn’t keep him happy it might be hard to find another man to love her. If only ... but it was no use lingering on what might have been. When Emerick had died suddenly and agonisingly of a pain in the belly, she and her daughter had been sent away by his family and the money they’d given Madge hadn’t lasted. She had not dared ask them for more and had soon found out then how useless the words if only were when you and your child needed something to eat.

  She sighed and went to stare out of the dormer window at the rain, which was now pelting down and turning the cobbled street and rows of grey slate roofs to shiny black in the moonlight. Feeling a bit down, she picked up the bottle of gin she’d brought home with her, unable to resist the warmth it gave - not to mention the feeling that everything would turn out well this time. She was glad Emmy had gone to bed because her daughter looked so disapproving when she drank. As if a woman who’d been as badly treated as Madge had didn’t deserve all the comfort she could get! Finding a glass, she poured out a measure and took a good swallow, sighing in relief as warmth began to spread through her body.

  As memories of her husband flooded through her she sipped daintily from the glass - only sluts drank out of the bottle. Emerick had been kind as well as good-looking and fun. George couldn’t hold a candle to him. He could be ruthless, cruel even. She knew that. But with him looking after her she felt safe again - well, more or less.

  Cradling the glass in her hands she sat on, her feet aching from all the running to and fro tonight. She wished George were with her now. He’d have driven away these miseries with his strong, warm body and his exciting plan
s for getting rich.

  When she grew tired she rested her head on her arms and woke up later, shivering, to a dark room, rain still beating against the windows and a fire that had gone out. As she stumbled across to her bed she admitted to herself that she was dreading going back to Northby, something she’d sworn never to do. Her father and mother had been a pair of old miseries and she’d been glad to get away from them and their suffocating respectability. They might be dead but her brother Isaac was still living in the town with his ugly old hag of a wife. He had married for money but it hadn’t brought him much joy when he was younger and she doubted that things would have changed since.

  It was a long time before Madge could get to sleep, thinking of the price she might have to pay for being with George. Would have to pay. And in Northby, of all places. She was not so stupid she didn’t realise what he wanted her for. But she also knew she could make him laugh, surprising amusement out of him as no other woman could. She prayed it would be enough to hold him.

  Hands stuffed into his pockets, Jack Staley watched his father Jem and brother Tom black their faces with soot from the chimney and listened to them joking with one another. He felt so furious at the way they were risking their lives that the words he’d been holding back burst out. ‘They’ll be waiting for you!’