Down Weaver's Lane

by Anna Jacobs

  Prudence led the way to the front of the house. ‘Emmy, a dear little dog has followed Parson home and we can’t bring ourselves to turn it away. Come and see!’

  At the front door the dog had lain down, as if exhausted, his head on his crossed front paws but his eyes still watchful. When the two women approached he dragged himself to his feet and essayed another wag or two. He looked equally ready to flee for his life or collapse.

  ‘Do you think you could wash him for us and give him something to eat?’ Prudence asked. ‘Parson and I have taken quite a fancy to him.’

  ‘No wonder!’ Emmy plumped down in front of the dog and gave it her hand to sniff. Talking softly and moving slowly, she stroked the emaciated creature and when she felt she had gained his trust, picked him up very gently. He gave her a quick lick on the hand and sighed. She smiled down at him then looked at her mistress, cradling him in her arms. ‘I’ll be happy to look after him, Mrs Bradley. I love animals, even though I’ve never been able to have a pet of my own.’ But her attention was really on the dog and she began talking to it as she walked back to the kitchen with it.

  The two Bradleys exchanged wry glances.

  ‘It seems we have acquired a dog,’ he said.

  ‘What shall we call it?’

  ‘What else but Hercules? After all, he has just accomplished the very difficult task of bringing a smile to Emmy’s face.’

  In the kitchen Cook stopped work to gape at the dirty little creature. ‘Get that thing out of here!’

  ‘Parson brought him home and the mistress wants me to bath him and look after him.’

  Cook opened her mouth, then shut it again as she saw the tender glow on Emmy’s face. ‘Well, you will have to look after it. I haven’t time. Though I’ll find it some scraps once you’ve bathed it.’

  ‘And perhaps a bowl of milk now?’ Emmy begged. ‘Just to make him feel at home.’

  ‘Oh, all right. But take him through to the laundry. Can’t have him under my feet.’ She rolled her eyes at Cass. ‘What next?’

  ‘Listen to her,’ Cass said softly. ‘She sounds happier than she has since she came back.’

  They heard Emmy talking to the little animal as she cared for it, laughing as it splashed her and tried to wriggle out of the basin she was using for a bathtub.

  ‘Eh,’ said Cook, mopping her eyes with a corner of her apron. ‘Trust the mistress to find a way to help her. She was born to be a parson’s wife, that one was.’

  Everyone in the household turned a blind eye when Emmy smuggled Hercules up to her bedroom that first night, and after that, since he did not make messes inside the house, it became openly accepted that he should sleep up there on an old blanket.

  Prudence got tears in her eyes as she listened to the girl talking to the dog in a low voice and saw her playing with him, laughing aloud as she threw a stick for him to fetch, a game both of them seemed to love.

  When Isaac came to call that Sunday afternoon, Emmy introduced him to the clever little dog and for the first time relaxed fully with her uncle, seeming to welcome his company and quiet talk. He went away with his heart lightened, feeling that the harm his wife had done was at last unravelling. And since he had received a cheerful letter from Dinah only the day before, saying how much she was enjoying school and the company of the other girls, he felt life was back on course. There had been no letters from Lal, not even to her mother, something Lena kept blaming him for. He was not surprised. Lal had not gone to school willingly and he had chosen a strict establishment for her, one used to dealing with wilful girls.

  After spending a pleasant hour with Emmy, he went home to a silent house, to spend the rest of the day with his head buried in a newspaper before attending Evensong. His wife refused to come to church with him any more and spent most evenings staring into space, not even pretending to embroider or read. Recently she had turned morose rather than aggressive and since the incident with Emmy would not even venture out of the house, saying people were staring at her. She paid little attention to her housekeeping duties, either, so he had had to hire a sensible older woman to come in three times a week to ‘help out’ and do the shopping. Evening meals on other days were very haphazard affairs.

  In fact, his life was bleak indeed these days and he was missing Dinah very much.

  Eleanor could see that her daughter-in-law was unhappy in her new life and blamed it on Marcus. Her son had always been very selfish and self-centred. But then few women married the perfect man, did they? She certainly had not.

  When she found Claude in a good mood one day, she broached the question of finding a cosy little cottage for his sister.

  His smile faded instantly. ‘Why the hell should we pay out good money for a cottage when there’s a whole wing unused here?’

  ‘Because it’s awkward for me having Matilda here,’ she said. ‘I’ve done my best and so has she, but she simply doesn’t fit in with our friends. And if I don’t invite her to join us, people talk, you know. If we set her up in a little cottage somewhere, she could make a life of her own and we could be seen as being generous without suffering any inconvenience. If we found a place in Northby I could call in to see her when I visit Margaret Rishmore, which should satisfy the gossips.’

  He growled under his breath and sat slapping one hand idly up and down on the arm of his chair as he thought this through. ‘She’d need servants.’

  ‘Just one maid and someone to help in the garden occasionally. The girl who used to look after her could come back, I’m sure. Mrs Bradley tells me she’s looking for another place. Matilda talks about her often and seems very fond of her.’

  ‘You want my sister to leave, do you, then?’

  Eleanor shrugged, a delicately expressive gesture. ‘I must admit I should prefer such an arrangement and I think it would make her happier, too. She’s lonely here.’

  ‘Have it your own way, then! I’m not sorting out any of the arrangements, though.’

  ‘Of course not. Women do these things so much better than men. And as to the cost?’

  ‘Spend as little as you can get away with. I’m not throwing money at her.’

  ‘I shall be most frugal.’ He was frowning in thought, so Eleanor waited for him to speak.

  ‘If there’s a suitable cottage for sale, it might be best to buy a place for her. I don’t like putting money into other men’s pockets. Afterwards, when it’s not needed, we can rent it out.’

  ‘What a good idea! Trust you to turn this into a sensible business arrangement.’ She smiled to see his smug expression then went to break the news to Matilda. What Claude considered a small amount of money to live on would seem lavish to a woman who had managed on two guineas a month previously, she was sure.

  Tibby stared at her sister-in-law in disbelief. ‘You mean - Claude has agreed to let me have a house of my own again?’

  ‘Yes. I told you he would once the wedding was over.’

  Tibby burst into tears.

  Eleanor went to put an arm round her. ‘Are you not pleased? You don’t have to leave if you don’t want.’

  ‘Pleased? I’m delighted!’ Tibby blew her nose. ‘I can’t believe it’s happening.’

  ‘There’s even better news.’

  Tibby blinked at her, unable to conceive of anything better.

  ‘Emmy hasn’t found another place and I’m sure she’d come back to you if you want her.’

  She then had to hold the old lady and rock her until she’d stopped weeping.

  ‘So happy!’ Tibby kept saying through her tears. ‘So very kind of you.’

  In the end Eleanor said bracingly, ‘Then if you’re happy, kindly stop weeping all over my new gown and help me plan what to do.’

  13

  When Mrs Armistead next came to call on Mrs Bradley, whom she had known before her marriage, Emmy asked Cook if she could run out and speak to the coachman waiting outside. ‘I just want to ask him if Mrs Tibby is all right.’

  ‘Still miss her, don’
t you?’ Cook asked indulgently, waving a hand in permission.

  The coachman condescended to inform the young lass that Mrs Oswald was keeping well, though she was having trouble walking.

  ‘Would you give her my regards, please?’ she asked. ‘I’m Emmy. I used to be her maid.’

  He smiled down at her, thinking how pretty she looked and wondering if the tales he had heard were true. Her hair was hidden beneath a cap but it did look very short. ‘Of course I will, lass,’ he said.

  As Emmy turned towards the house, there was a tapping on the window and she saw her mistress beckoning from the front parlour. She hurried inside to find Mrs Bradley waiting in the hall. ‘I’m sorry, ma’am. I was just asking the coachman about Mrs Tibby. Cook said I could.’

  ‘Come and ask my visitor about her instead. Mrs Oswald’s sister-in-law will know much better than the coachman how she’s keeping.’

  Emmy followed her into the parlour, feeling apprehensive. What was all this about?

  Eleanor studied the girl, remembering her from last time. ‘I’ve come to ask you if you’ll look after my sister-in-law again? She needs a new maid.’

  Emmy stared at her in dismay, not knowing what to answer. There was nothing she’d like better than to go back to Mrs Tibby - nothing! - but the thought of meeting Marcus Armistead again, of living in the same house as him, terrified her. What if he decided to pay her back for hitting him over the head? What if he captured her again?

  Eleanor frowned. ‘I’d have thought you’d have jumped at the chance.’

  Mrs Bradley came to put an arm round Emmy. ‘I’ll explain to Mrs Armistead, my dear. Just tell me - if we can sort out that little problem of yours, would you like to work for your old mistress again?’

  ‘Oh, ma’am, there’s nothing in the world I’d like more.’

  ‘Wait for us in the kitchen, then.’ When the maid had gone, Prudence turned to her visitor. ‘I don’t know how to explain this tactfully, so please excuse my being blunt. Late last year Emmy caught the attention of your son Marcus.’

  ‘Ah! No need to explain further.’

  Prudence sighed. ‘I’m afraid there is. You see, he arranged to have her kidnapped and she had to hit him over the head before she could escape. She’s now afraid to go anywhere near him.’

  Eleanor froze. She knew Marcus was promiscuous, but not that he would stoop to such lengths. She also knew how unhappy Jane was with him. Even in the short time since their marriage, her daughter-in-law seemed to have grown thinner and more nervous. It was hard to believe the worst of your own son, but Eleanor prided herself on facing up to things. After all, her own husband had been unfaithful to her many times, so why should she be surprised that the son took after him? What was there about the Armistead men that they needed so many women? She didn’t think Claude would force an unwilling one into his bed, however, though sadly she did believe that of Marcus.

  ‘I shall ask my husband to have a word with our son and warn him to stay right away from the girl. But Tibby finds life at Moor Grange lonely, so we’re going to find her a cottage in Northby. Emmy will have no need to see Marcus again.’

  ‘But will he stay away from her?’

  Eleanor smiled grimly. ‘He is dependent upon us for money. If we tell him to do so, he will listen, believe me. And if we find Matilda a cottage in Northby, perhaps you and your husband could also help keep an eye on things? I doubt Marcus would want to be seen in this town being unfaithful to Samuel Rishmore’s daughter.’

  ‘No, you’re right.’ Prudence had forgotten that.

  When Emmy found it was possible to go back to her dear Mrs Tibby, she wept for sheer joy. ‘I can’t believe it!’ she kept saying. ‘I can’t believe how lucky I am!’

  ‘Eh, it fair warms your heart,’ Cook muttered to Cass, blowing her nose vigorously. ‘It’s about time that lass had some happiness.’ Then she made up for this display of human weakness by being very sharp with everyone for the rest of the day.

  Mrs Tibby came to call at the Parsonage the following day and Prudence left her and Emmy alone together to chat about their plans. When she came back, she found them both misty-eyed.

  ‘What am I to do with you, Emmy?’ she teased. ‘Shall I find you another maid, Mrs Oswald, one who doesn’t weep all over you?’

  ‘Never!’ Tibby reached out to take hold of Emmy’s hand and beam at her kind hostess. ‘And I hope you’ll come and take tea with me once I’m settled in, Mrs Bradley?’

  ‘It’ll be my pleasure.’ She looked at Emmy. ‘There’s just one other thing: what are we going to do about Hercules?’

  Emmy’s face fell.

  ‘I don’t think he’ll be happy with anyone else. Should you mind, Mrs Oswald, taking a dog as well as a maid?’

  Tibby had already been introduced to Emmy’s new friend and although she had been nervous of Hercules at first, had soon realised he was a loving creature. ‘I should be delighted to have him,’ she said at once.

  She went home with such a smile on her gentle face that it did the coachman’s heart good to see her, it really did. They all wished Mrs Oswald well in the servants’ hall.

  Jane watched surreptitiously through the window, almost groaning in relief as Marcus got into the carriage they hired regularly from the village inn. She was delighted that he would be gone for several days because she was finding his presence more wearing on her nerves than she had expected. If she had realised how very difficult he would be to live with, and how viciously unkind, she would have continued to defy her father about marrying him.

  Marcus boasted regularly to her of his other women, comparing her unfavourably to them and taunting her with her inability to produce an heir. It didn’t seem to occur to him that he might be the one at fault because he could not always manage to complete the act - which he also blamed on her. It had occurred to Jane, though, and very forcibly.

  She had intended to bring Aggie to live with her but had changed her mind about that, explaining frankly to her old nurse how unkind Marcus was. ‘He’d soon realise he had another way to hurt me by hurting you, and he’d enjoy that very much indeed. He can be - creatively cruel.’

  As the carriage vanished into the distance, Jane turned with a sigh to wander through the house which was now wonderfully quiet. The minute Marcus left everything seemed to settle down, as if even the walls sighed with relief to be rid of his presence. By the time he returned she would know whether she had to endure his nightly assaults for a further month. A tear trickled down her face at that thought, but she told herself not to be so stupid. What good would tears do?

  She decided to go and visit Aunt Tibby to cheer herself up. She had grown very fond of her husband’s aunt and the walk to the big house would cheer her up. Indeed, going for long walks was her favourite pastime now.

  Jane found the old lady in high spirits at the prospect of moving into a cottage of her own and returned home feeling jealous. What would she not give for somewhere like that, a place truly her own where no one would disturb her peace?

  That made her draw in her breath suddenly. Would it be so impossible? How much did one need to live simply? She must discuss that with Aunt Tibby on her next visit. There must be a way to escape from here. She knew she could not face a lifetime of Marcus Armistead.

  But dare she do it? Leaving her husband would destroy her good name.

  Jane smiled wryly at the thought. What did her good name matter when staying with him for the rest of her life would destroy her utterly? She was quite sure of that.

  As the carriage jolted along towards Manchester, Marcus stared sourly across the fields. He was relieved to be out of that miserable box of a house, where there was only his horse-faced wife to enliven the monotony. He was already sick of being married to a woman who was as much fun as a corpse in bed and big enough to fight him if she didn’t like what he was doing. And he loathed being dependent on his father’s goodwill.

  Well, today would see the latter start to change, at least. He
was on his way to meet George Duckworth to finalise plans for setting up their little business together. He snickered at the thought. A high-class brothel! George said they would not only make a great deal of money, but Marcus would be able to try out the stock whenever he wanted. Now that would be - interesting.

  His father would throw a fit if he knew what Marcus was doing, but he wasn’t going to find out. What was the use in harping on the importance of the Armistead name when he kept his only son perpetually short of money?

  Marcus left the carriage at an inn and took a cab for the rest of the journey, not wanting the driver from the livery stables to tattle about where he had gone. The house George had found for them was on the edge of a slum area and not nearly as big as Marcus had expected, but it was only a starting point after all. Even before he knocked the front door opened and his partner stood there grinning at him.

  ‘Well, Marcus lad, so you’re here at last.’ George wondered if the silly young fool knew how ridiculous he looked in a cloak with two capes and a collar on top of them. The top hat was, of course, the tallest style available. As if that would make a small man look taller. In fact, all this outfit did was make Armistead look as wide as he was high.

  ‘Fetch my bag in, will you?’ Marcus ran lightly up the steps. ‘And I’m Mr Armistead to you!’

  George bit off the words, ‘Fetch it your bloody self!’ and did as he was asked. One day he’d pay back this snivelling rich man’s son for all the petty insults, but not yet. For the moment, Mr Marcus bloody Armistead was going to help George make his dreams come true.

  Marcus wandered down the hall, peering into each room. ‘It needs decorating.’

  ‘Well, a’course it does. I’ll find folk to do that cheap.’

  ‘I’m not made of money, you know. Be sure you don’t spend foolishly.’