‘I’ve brought this for Josh. Lizzie said he needed one for getting to and from work.’
‘Oh Mick.’ Emily didn’t know what to say. She was grateful that Josh would no longer have the long walk to work and yet . . .
‘Is he in?’
‘Shut that door, Emily,’ Martha called crossly. ‘Either come in or go out, do. Your father’s in a terrible draught and you’re letting all the heat out of the house.’
‘Come in, Mick,’ Emily said quickly. He leaned the bicycle against the wall and stepped inside.
Softly, Emily said, ‘It’s awfully good of you, but I don’t think we can afford—’
‘What’s going on?’ Martha demanded.
Emily bit her lip. ‘Mick’s brought a bicycle for Josh to get to work on.’
‘Evenin’, Mrs Ryan,’ Mick said, grinning and taking off his cap. ‘Our Lizzie said Josh has a long way to walk to work and I thought—’
Martha came towards him, smiling. ‘Why, that’s very kind of you, Mick, I’m sure. How much do we owe you?’
With a swift glance towards Emily, Mick shrugged and said, ‘How about five bob? And you can pay me a shilling a week, if that’d help.’
Martha’s face was grim for a moment and she cast a resentful glance at her daughter, but she forced a smile back on her face and nodded, ‘That’d be very good of you. Thank you, Mick. Can I offer you a cup of tea?’
‘No, I’d better be off, ta very much, though.’ With his hand on the door handle, he winked at Emily and added, ‘And tell your Josh I’ll tek him out with me an’ my mates on Saturday night. Show him the city’s night life.’
‘Thanks, Mick,’ Emily said quietly, but she had no intention of doing any such thing. The moment the door closed, Martha rounded on Emily. ‘What have you been saying to the neighbours, insinuating that we’re poverty stricken, have you?’
‘No, Mam, I—’ Emily took a deep breath as she prepared to bend the truth – just a little. ‘It was Lizzie who said she thought Josh ought to have a bicycle. She said she’d ask Mick.’ This bit, at least, was the truth, but Martha was not about to let the matter drop. ‘So what was all that about paying him a shilling a week?’
Mentally, Emily crossed her fingers as she shrugged and said, airily, ‘I expect that’s the way most folks round here pay for things.’
Martha glared at her for a moment, but as Walter began to cough, drawing her attention to him, she turned away. Emily glanced at her father and, though she could not have sworn it in a court of law, she was sure he winked at her.
Emily no longer walked to work with Lizzie for she had to be there earlier than all the buffer girls to have everything ready for them. As she walked along one morning, pulling her shawl closely around her, she determined to speak to the missus that very day. Despite Martha’s blind faith in Josh, it seemed he could not expect a wage rise yet.
‘I’m doing my best, Em,’ he’d said when she’d tackled him the previous night, their conversation carried out in whispers so that their mother would not hear. ‘And Mr Bayes says I’m a good worker, but I don’t even like it. It’s hard and mucky.’ He sighed. ‘I should have stood up to Mam. We should never have come here. And what Amy must be thinking, I don’t know. She’s never written.’
‘Not at all?’
Josh shook his head. ‘Not once.’
‘Have you written to her?’
‘Yes, twice a week. I sent one myself when we first got here but now I give the letters to Mam to post and I leave her the coppers for the stamps so she doesn’t have to spend her housekeeping money.’
‘I don’t expect she minds,’ Emily smiled and added cheekily, ‘if it’s for you.’
Josh smiled wryly and then added seriously, ‘I’m so sorry, Em, that I can’t help you more.’
‘Don’t worry,’ she patted his shoulder, ‘I’ll see Mrs Nicholson tomorrow.’
But now the moment was near, Emily felt her knees trembling as she let herself into the workshop and began her morning’s tasks. She worked swiftly and competently now, so that by the time the buffer girls began to arrive, everything was ready for them. Mrs Nicholson glanced around and nodded her approval. ‘You’ve made a good errand lass, Emily, but I think you’re worth more. Nell tells me you’ve done really well. So, at dinner time, I’ll see what you can do and maybe we’ll be able to set you on as a proper buffer girl.’
Emily turned pink with pleasure, and also with relief that now she didn’t have to approach the delicate subject herself.
At dinner time, Emily was nervous. This was so important, but after she had worked in front of the missus for half an hour, Ruth Nicholson smiled and nodded. ‘You’ll do, lass. You can go on t’side next Monday morning and your pay’ll go up to five shillings a week. When you get a bit quicker at it, then I’ll put you on piece-rate and then you should be able to earn a bit more. I’ll start you on heeling and pipping.’ Emily knew that this was what most buffer girls started on; buffing the end of spoon and fork handles. ‘In the meantime,’ the missus went on, ‘I’ll get Ida’s niece in and you can show her the ropes for the rest of this week. That way, she might be some use by next week, though –’ Ruth lowered her voice – ‘I doubt she’ll be as good as you’ve been.’ The woman sighed. ‘Still, I can’t let you go on as an errand lass any longer. You deserve better and, besides, you have the makings of an excellent buffer girl.’
Emily glowed with pride. She couldn’t wait to tell Trip. They’d been able to meet most Sunday afternoons but, as the weather grew colder, Emily suggested that he should come to her home instead of meeting her in the park. Trip had shaken his head. ‘Best not,’ he’d said and then he’d turned his refusal into a compliment by squeezing her hand and adding, ‘Besides, I want you all to myself, though I do wish it was sometimes the four of us, like it used to be.’
‘So do I,’ Emily murmured, recalling the happy times they had spent together as youngsters.
‘Josh and me were good mates – still are, I hope.’
‘Do you remember that snowy winter when Amy’s dad made two toboggans for us?’
‘Yes, I do. And he made Josh and me promise faithfully to look after you two girls.’
‘And you did. But you didn’t look after each other very well, did you?’
‘Well, we liked slopes that were steeper than the ones we dared to take you two on.’
‘And once you nearly ended up in the icy river because you couldn’t stop at the bottom of a steep hill.’
‘Fancy you remembering that.’
‘I remember everything,’ she said simply. Trip put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to him.
‘How I wish we were back there again,’ he said softly.
‘So do I. Oh, so do I.’
Fourteen
Amy stood by the window of their small front room. The room was small because the rest of the house frontage was taken up with the blacksmith’s shop, it’s huge door open every day on to the street so that passers-by could see the glowing forge and hear the rhythmic clanging of Bob Clark’s hammer. She gazed unseeingly at the dull October day. Josh and his family had been gone over a month. Bob watched his daughter, his heart aching at the look of misery etched into her pretty, gentle face. He glanced down and noticed that the mound of her pregnancy was just beginning to show. He sighed inwardly. Soon, poor Amy would have to face the whispers in the village when her condition could no longer be hidden. No doubt too, the wagging tongues would blame him, saying that he hadn’t been a good father to let his daughter get into trouble.
But they’d both trusted Josh and were sadly disappointed in him.
‘He’s not coming back, is he, Dad?’ Amy said softly, without turning round.
Bob hesitated for a moment, but they’d always been truthful with one another. His voice breaking a little, he said, ‘No, love, I don’t think he is. He hasn’t even written again after that one letter, has he?’
Amy shook her head, not trusting herself to spea
k now. Bob crossed the room and put his arm around her shoulders as she leaned against him. ‘Oh Dad,’ she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Bob squeezed her. ‘Don’t worry, love.’ His voice was strong and determined. ‘We’ll get through this, I promise. And if that young scallywag ever shows his face around here again, I’ll—’
‘No, Dad, please don’t. Please don’t say anything against Josh. I – I don’t blame him. It’s his mother. I know it is.’
‘Aye, well, maybe you’re right at that.’
They stood together in silence watching Mr Osborne from the corner shop opposite take in all the boxes of fruit, vegetables and greenery that stood outside all day if the weather was fine. Only yesterday he had bemoaned Josh’s departure to Amy. ‘I’m having to tell folks I can’t get candles for ’em this year, Amy lass. I’ve haven’t found another supplier yet. Eeh, I do wish young Josh hadn’t left.’ Amy had smiled weakly and thought, So do I, but she’d said nothing.
It was growing dusk and Mr Osborne would soon be closing up his shop.
‘After all,’ Amy went on now, ‘Josh doesn’t even know, does he? About – about the baby, I mean.’
‘Not unless you’ve written and told him, lass.’
She shook her head firmly. ‘I haven’t and I’m not going to either. I don’t want him marrying me because he feels he has to. I did reply to his letter and I’ve written a couple of times since –’ it was more than just a couple, Bob knew – ‘but when he didn’t reply and I – I knew for sure that I was in the family way, I stopped.’
‘I have to say I’d’ve thought better of him. I thought he’d at least have written to you again, even if he can’t afford to travel home.’
Amy said nothing, but she couldn’t help silently agreeing with her father.
Bob put his arm around his daughter’s shoulders. ‘I think it’s time to face the music, love. Let’s go and see your Aunty Grace together, shall we?’
‘Oh Dad, I can’t. I can’t face the disapproval in her face, even if she doesn’t say anything.’
He hugged her to him. ‘It’s got to be done sometime – and sooner rather than later, because you’ll not be able to hide it for much longer. Come on, let’s go now – this minute. Strike while the iron’s hot.’ It was one of Bob’s favourite sayings and no doubt it had something to do with his life’s work as a blacksmith.
‘All right,’ Amy agreed at last in a small voice. ‘I’ll get my cloak.’
The copious winter cloak hid her pregnancy well but the baby wasn’t due until March or April, Amy reckoned, and by the spring, there would be no hiding her condition.
Grace Partridge had been her mother’s friend from their school days. They had been bridesmaids at each other’s wedding and their husbands had become friends too. Dan Partridge worked on the land and, like Bob Clark, had not been conscripted for the war. When Bob’s wife Sarah had died at Amy’s birth, it had been Grace who had stepped in and taken over the care of the young baby, whilst Bob toiled long hours in the smithy, not only to provide for his daughter, but also to work out his grief. He had never remarried – had never wanted to – and Amy had been everything to him. Now, as they walked the few paces along the road to the cottage where Grace lived, his emotions were very mixed. The villagers would view Amy’s condition as a shameful sin, but Bob was relying on Grace’s love for the girl and her generous and understanding nature. She was a strong-minded woman who belonged to the Ashford branch of the Female Friendly Society, which had been founded in the late eighteenth century. Members contributed money regularly to help their fellow villagers, who needed support either because of illness or bereavement. Constance Trippet was its leading member.
‘She’s a nice woman, that Mrs Trippet,’ Grace would tell anyone who would listen. ‘You wouldn’t think it, not married to that stuck-up husband of hers, but when you get to know her, she’s a real lady, though down to earth as well, if you know what I mean.’
The women of the village did know what Grace meant for they all liked Constance Trippet. And if the rest of the villagers took their lead from Grace over Amy as they had in taking the trouble to get to know Constance Trippet, then the girl had nothing to fear.
‘Now, love,’ Bob said as they neared Grace’s door, ‘do you want to tell her or shall I?’
‘I’ll tell her, Dad, but I want you with me.’
He squeezed her hand and then knocked on the door. Grace opened it only a moment later, but it was time enough for Amy’s legs to feel as if they had turned to jelly.
‘Bob – Amy – what a lovely surprise! Come in, come in, do.’ She beamed a welcome but then, as she saw the look on both their faces, her smile faltered and she glanced anxiously from one to the other. ‘What is it? Is something wrong?’
‘Not exactly, Grace, love, but we need to talk to you. In private, like.’
‘Well, Dan’s still at work, so there’s just us. Come in and I’ll make some tea.’
‘It’s not a secret from Dan,’ Bob said, as they followed her through to the kitchen. He sighed as he sat down. ‘And it won’t be much of a one for long, anyway.’
He reached across the table and took hold of Amy’s hand. ‘You tell her, love.’
‘Just wait a minute whilst I mash the tea and then you can tell me what’s worrying you, love, because I can see for myself that there’s something.’
Grace was rotund, with a round, cheerful face that was usually pink from cooking, or washing or ironing, for she loved nothing better than to be busy. Although she and Dan had never had any children, Grace was nevertheless a motherly type and looked upon Amy as the daughter she had never had. Since Amy had grown up, Grace had occupied her spare time with helping out the villagers whenever and wherever support was needed. She had become friendly with Constance Trippet and was never afraid to call on her for assistance.
‘Now, my dear, what is it? You know you can tell your Aunty Grace anything.’
‘I . . .’ Amy began and then faltered. Bob gripped her hand tighter and then said, ‘She’s pregnant, Grace.’
Grace blinked and stared at the girl, but it was the look of concern on the older woman’s face that brought tears to Amy’s eyes. She wasn’t shocked or disgusted, only dreadfully anxious. Perhaps her censure might have been easier for Amy to bear.
‘Oh my little love, come here.’ Grace stood up and opened her arms wide. With a little sob, Amy rose too and laid her head against the woman’s ample bosom and wept, whilst Grace patted her back comfortingly. ‘There, there, it’ll be all right. Your dad and me – and your Uncle Dan – will look after you.’
When Grace had found a clean white handkerchief for Amy and they’d both sat down again, she said practically, ‘Now, then, I don’t doubt that the baby’s young Josh Ryan’s. So, what’s he going to do about it?’ Her voice was firm and both Amy and her father had no doubt that if Josh had still been around he might well have received a clip around the ear from Grace Partridge.
‘He doesn’t know,’ Bob said quietly.
‘Doesn’t know! Then he ought to be told and pretty quick.’
But Amy was shaking her head firmly. ‘Please, Aunty Grace. I don’t want him to know – not unless he comes back to see me and then he will find out. But, you see, I don’t want him to feel obliged to marry me. And besides, his mother—’
‘Oh, don’t talk to me about Martha Ryan. Her and me have never got on. Too high an opinion of herself, has that one.’
‘. . . will never agree to it anyway. And he’s under age. He can’t get married without her consent.’
For a moment, Grace stared at her and then, on a heavy sigh, said, ‘Ah, I see.’
‘Before he went away, he asked me to marry him next spring, but his mother put a stop to it, saying she wouldn’t give her consent and then – and then – she took him away.’
‘But he’s writing to you, isn’t he?’
Amy bit her lip and shook her head sorrowfully. ‘He
wrote once, just after they left, but since then there’s been nothing. Not a word.’
‘I blame that mother of his,’ Grace said tartly. ‘Have you heard from Emily?’
Again, Amy shook her head.
‘Well, that does surprise me. I’d have thought better of both of them.’ After a moment’s thoughtful pause, she patted Amy’s hand. ‘But don’t you worry, love, we’ll look after you and I’ll mind that the tongues don’t wag. You leave the folks in this village to me.’
‘But you do promise me you won’t tell Josh or any of his family, don’t you? Or anyone else who might tell them. If he does come back, I want to be sure that it’s because he wants to and – and not because he’s heard I’m expecting his baby. Please, Aunty Grace.’
The woman sighed and, with obvious reluctance, gave her promise. She and Bob exchanged a glance. It had been in both their minds to write to the Ryans, but since Amy was so adamant, there was nothing more they could do.
Fifteen
‘I’m going back to Ashford on Sunday to see Amy,’ Josh announced as he sat down at the tea table. ‘I haven’t heard from her, even though I’ve written several times since we got here. And no, it won’t cost me anything. I’ll get a lift most of the way and walk the rest if I have to.’
‘Huh! I don’t know why you want to waste your time on her,’ Martha said tightly, ladling out thick vegetable soup into four bowls. Vegetables sold late on a Saturday night were cheap yet nourishing, though Emily noticed that Josh had pieces of meat floating in his bowl. ‘If she hasn’t written to you at all, then she can’t be that bothered. I expect she’s already got her sights set on another village lad.’
‘Amy wouldn’t do that,’ Josh said quietly. ‘We’re promised to each other.’
Martha’s head shot up as Emily picked up one of the bowls and a spoon and moved across to sit on a low stool in front of Walter, but she was still listening to the argument between mother and son.
‘I’ve told you before, Josh; that was a foolish thing to do. You’re far too young to be getting yourself tied to anyone, especially Amy Clark.’
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