Farewell to Lancashire

by Anna Jacobs

  Cassandra hesitated, then asked, ‘You speak differently from folk round here. You come from another part of the country, I think.’

  ‘Yes. From Hertfordshire.’

  ‘What’s it like there?’

  Mrs Southerham smiled. ‘Much softer than this part of the world, with no moors.’

  ‘I can’t imagine that.’ Cassandra realised she was chatting as if to a friend and bit back another question, not wanting to give offence.

  ‘We’d better open the bundles and start sorting out the clothes, but there’s no reason we can’t chat to pass the time.’

  ‘Why are you doing this, helping me, I mean?’

  Mrs Southerham knew what her companion was really asking. ‘Because I can’t bear injustice. They’ve even tried to change your names. I think that’s shameful.’

  Cassandra couldn’t hold back a few tears then. Sympathy and kindness were the last things she’d expected.

  ‘Tell me about your father,’ Mrs Southerham asked once she’d recovered. ‘He must be an exceptional man to be learning Greek.’

  ‘He is. And he’s the best father in the world.’

  ‘So was mine. I miss him dreadfully. He died two years ago and I still think of things to tell him.’

  ‘And your mother?’

  ‘She followed him to the grave a few months later, just seemed to lose the will to live after he’d gone.’

  When the bell rang to mark the end of the morning session, Mrs Southerham stopped work. ‘We’d better tell your sisters you’re staying on to help me. I’ll come with you in case there are any – er, questions from the other ladies. And you’d better have something else to eat, because we have an hour or two’s hard work ahead of us still. I’ll get that for you while you speak to your sisters.’

  As Livia approached the area where the bread and milk were served, the Vicar approached her.

  ‘Might I have a word, my dear lady?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘I believe you’ve taken a certain young person out of the group to work with you. I cannot advise this, knowing her background as I do. You must allow me to guide you in your choice of helper.’

  ‘I’m quite satisfied with Cassandra’s help, thank you. She’s not only a hard worker but she’s very intelligent and quick to learn.’

  His face became a deeper red. Before he could speak again, she added, ‘I think people have been mistaken about her morals, Vicar.’

  ‘The lady who informed us knows the family.’

  ‘The lady who informed you bears a grudge against that family, from what I’ve heard. And might I say that my family will be very surprised that you’re questioning my judgement like this.’ She didn’t often use the Southerhams’ superior social status, but was so angry about how they were treating the Blake sisters that she didn’t hesitate to do so now.

  She watched his desire to have his own way war with his desire to stand well with her husband’s family, and the latter must have won.

  ‘Well, if you insist. I must just pray that your trust isn’t betrayed.’ With an inclination of the head, he moved on.

  Why were they all so against those girls? Was it just based on one spiteful woman’s word or was there another reason? Perhaps because of the way they spoke, using long words and expressing thoughts that showed an interest in matters beyond domesticity. Livia went across to the table and took some food, together with a glass of milk.

  The lady looked at her sharply but didn’t protest, and Livia went back to the small room, where Cassandra was once again at work.

  It took another two hours to sort out all the clothes and examine each piece carefully to see which needed mending and which didn’t, forming and reforming piles.

  At one stage Livia saw Cassandra stroking a tiny embroidered jacket.

  ‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve never seen anything like it.’ She smiled. ‘Our babies don’t usually wear such pretty clothes.’

  Livia bit her lip but couldn’t prevent her expression from betraying her sadness. She saw Cassandra look at her anxiously. ‘I lost a child last year and sometimes I feel sad when I see baby clothes.’

  ‘Then why not leave this task for other ladies?’

  ‘Because this is something I can do without their help.’ She saw the quick understanding in her companion’s eyes and added, ‘I’m not very good at gossip and not interested in the town’s scandals, real or imaginary.’

  ‘You’re kind and that’s much more important.’

  ‘I do my best. Now, we’ve done enough for today. All the bundles are properly labelled. Let me take you home in my carriage.’

  ‘Better not. I’ve offended those in charge enough for one day.’

  Livia chuckled. ‘I’ve enjoyed working with you, Cassandra. Are you coming back tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes. Whatever they say or do, I need the money and the food.’

  ‘Then I’ll come back, too. And I’ll make sure they let you continue to work with me.’

  When Cassandra told her family about Mrs Southerham and how frankly the two of them had spoken, Edwin frowned.

  ‘Be careful, lass. The gentry take sudden fancies, then grow tired of them just as quickly.’

  ‘I don’t think Mrs Southerham will. But if she does, I’m no worse off. She’s not employing me, after all, just letting me help her with a particular task.’

  ‘Her clothes are beautiful,’ Pandora said longingly. ‘It must be wonderful to wear clothes like that.’

  ‘Better to have a well-furnished mind,’ her father said sharply.

  Smiling quickly at one another, they changed the subject. Their father couldn’t understand ‘female vanity’, as he called it, and he never would. But even the clever Blake sisters were interested in pretty clothes.

  Maia joined her sisters at the sewing classes on the days she wasn’t cleaning or helping with washing. The money they got for attending was a godsend, because the rent still had to be paid if they wanted to stay in their own home.

  When the sisters received their money at the end of each week, Cassandra kept it, not putting it in the pot for her father to give away.

  ‘Did they pay you?’ he asked that evening.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’ve not put it in the pot.’

  ‘I’ve only got enough for the food.’

  ‘There’s a family in the next street starving and they have a new baby,’ he said. ‘Could we not spare a few pence? I’d happily go without food one night to make up for it.’

  ‘Have they applied for relief?’

  He hesitated.

  ‘They haven’t, have they?’

  ‘The young fellow says he’ll starve to death before he accepts charity.’

  ‘Isn’t it charity if you give him money?’

  ‘I was going to give it to his wife.’

  ‘You’ll help them most by persuading them to go on relief and sending him to break stones.’

  ‘He’s not strong enough now to do work like that.’

  ‘Even so, we can’t afford to help them.’

  The glance he gave her was disappointed, but she didn’t change her mind. Sometimes their father had to be protected from himself.

  A few nights later, after dark, there was a knock on the door and Edwin found a tall young man there with a sack in his hand.

  ‘Mr Blake?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘This is for you.’ He set the sack down on the floor and hurried off down the street.

  Edwin took it through to the kitchen. ‘I don’t know what this is or why it’s been left here, but the young fellow who brought it said my name, so it can’t be a mistake.’

  They all gathered round.

  ‘It looks like the other sack Uncle Joseph gave us,’ Xanthe said.

  Sure enough, it contained flour and sugar, potatoes and onions, and even small packages of cheese and ham.

  Edwin didn’t comment, but his daughters could see how this gift
had pleased him. When he looked across at Cassandra pleadingly, she knew what he was asking and she sighed. ‘I’ll pack a little food for that family you mentioned, but we need the rest, Dad. The rent is still six shillings a week, you know.’

  He smiled. ‘I knew you’d give what you could.’

  He fell asleep after tea, looking tired out. He was helping to do maintenance work at the mill, keeping everything clean and ready for when cotton started arriving again, which meant hard physical work sometimes. He helped in the office occasionally as well, because he wrote a fair hand and there were still letters to write. The previous clerk had now found himself a job in London.

  But even so, there was only half a week’s work for him, and half a week’s wages at the end of it.

  As the weeks passed, Cassandra grew more and more worried about her father. He was losing weight steadily, and in spite of eating more than most of their neighbours, he was almost skeletal. In the evenings he tried to hide his weariness, but couldn’t.

  And yet he had only just turned sixty-one, had been hale and hearty until the previous year. What would they do if he—? No, she mustn’t think like that. Once this dreadful war was over, once the raw cotton started arriving in Lancashire again, he’d surely get better. He must.

  Reece Gregory’s visits were now the highlight of Cassandra’s week. She changed library books for him, discussed what he’d read, since she’d usually read it too, and argued sometimes over what the authors meant.

  At first her father sat with them in the front room, but after a few visits he left them to chat on their own, and her sisters always found things to do elsewhere.

  She wasn’t certain whether Reece considered himself to be courting her but was beginning to hope. Then one day he laid one hand over hers and looked at her sadly.

  ‘We need to get something clear, lass. I can’t court you, though I’d like to. I’ve no money to support a wife and I won’t bring children into the world to starve. So if my coming here keeps other men away, then I’d best stop.’

  For a moment she didn’t know what to say, was glad he wanted her but sad that times were against them. ‘Other men don’t come courting me because I’m too sharp-tongued for most of them, so there’s no need for you to stop coming.’

  He looked at her, his whole face softening. ‘Then they’re fools. And when times improve, I will come courting, if you’ll allow me to.’

  ‘I’d like that.’ There was a warmth inside her and hope was rising that one day, when this terrible Cotton Famine was over, one day ... She cut off the thought. No use putting too much store on what might never happen. Look at how upset Pandora had been when her young man died.

  Only when Reece was leaving did she nerve herself to ask, ‘You will still keep coming – as a friend?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes. But don’t ask for more yet.’

  She allowed herself a few tears after he’d gone, but what was the use of crying? You couldn’t change the world, however much you’d like to, and this war and the distress in Lancashire seemed to be going on for ever.

  But she felt a warmth at Reece wanting her, and wonder at finding a man to love when she’d given up hope. The thought of him gave her the courage to continue, to hope for better days.

  4

  Francis Southerham stood to one side as Reece’s cousin Ginny milked the first of the cows. ‘I think I should learn how to do this,’ he said as she finished and prepared to move on to the next animal.

  Reece gaped at him. ‘Milk a cow, sir? Won’t you be hiring a cowman or dairy maid in Australia?’

  ‘I don’t know. My friend says they’re short of experienced workers, so it seems to me that I need to know everything I can about farming if I’m to succeed there. I may have to take on unskilled workers and show them what to do.’ He turned to Ginny. ‘Would you mind teaching me, Mrs Dobson?’

  There followed a practical lesson which had Ginny in fits of laughter. But by the end of it, Francis was improving and milk was flowing more or less steadily from the cow’s teats. Reece got on with his work, but kept an eye on them. He’d never met a gentleman like this one. After a chance encounter on the moors, Mr Southerham had sought him out and they’d chatted. If their lives hadn’t been so far apart, they might have been friends because they shared many ideas about the world.

  ‘I’ll come back to practise again, if I may,’ Francis said as he prepared to mount his horse.

  ‘What’s a gentleman doing milking cows?’ Ginny asked after he’d left.

  ‘Learning how to farm for when he goes to Australia.’

  ‘He’s a strange one, that. He’ll soon tire of it, I’m sure.’ She dug Reece in the ribs. ‘How’s that lass of yours?’

  He stiffened. ‘I haven’t got a lass.’

  She rolled her eyes and made a disbelieving sound in her throat.

  ‘How can I court any woman when I can’t even find work?’

  Ginny came across to pat his shoulder. ‘This war won’t go on for ever, lad. You can court her – just don’t marry her yet.’

  He smiled at her. She was older than him and treated him in a motherly way. ‘It’s beginning to feel as if it will never end.’ He hesitated. ‘I’m thinking I should leave here, Ginny, go down south, see if there are proper jobs to be had there. I’d do anything. I thought coming to you was just temporary, for a few months, till the next cotton harvest came through from America, but ...’ He shrugged.

  Her voice softened. ‘You don’t have to leave. You more than pay your way here.’

  He knew that, but it wasn’t enough for him just to exist and the desire to change his life was taking a firmer hold inside him with every day that passed. If he did go away, would Cassandra wait for him? Should he even ask her to?

  No, it wouldn’t be fair. Her father had spoken once of his desire for his eldest daughter to marry and have children before it was too late. Reece had come to love her. It had crept up on him, making him want the best for her. But if this war went on for years, he had no right to make her miss her chance of having a family. Men could father children in their middle years, but women stopped being fertile long before men did.

  In the middle of a restless night, he decided to ask Mr Southerham for help in finding a job elsewhere, because the one thing Reece was certain of was that he couldn’t continue meeting Cassandra like this. It was like rubbing salt into a wound.

  He wanted to marry her, he knew that now, not just for her body, but for her mind, her very self. He hadn’t felt like this with his first wife, had learned the hard way what he needed in a wife if he was to be happy.

  Damn this Cotton Famine! It destroyed a man’s dreams, took away his hopes, made you doubt the future.

  When Francis got home, he found Livia sitting in their bedroom, chilly as it was. ‘Avoiding my family again?’ he asked as he bent to kiss her cheek.

  ‘I hope they don’t realise I do that.’

  ‘No, of course not. I know you better, though.’

  She hesitated, then asked, ‘How are you feeling today?’

  He avoided her eyes. ‘A little better, I think. The fresh air agrees with me.’

  She gave him a long level look that said she didn’t believe that. He changed the subject. ‘How was your protégée today?’

  ‘Interested in anything and everything I can teach her. I’ve never met anyone who picks things up so quickly. She’s learning to embroider now, and doing it well. All it needed was me to give her a few pointers and she was able to repair the fancywork on some of the garments. She took them home for something to do. She’s fretting over the tedium of being unemployed as well as the money side of things.’

  ‘You speak so well of her, I must come and meet her one day.’

  ‘I doubt she’d speak as freely to you. It took her a while to trust me.’

  ‘The fellow I met on the moors is much the same and just as trapped by his poverty as your Cassandra.’ Partly to distract Livia, he added with a quick smile, ‘Do you want t
o come and learn how to milk cows?’

  She gaped at him, then burst out laughing.

  ‘I’m serious. That’s what I was doing today. I know how to care for horses, have felt happy in stables all my life. And we could learn how to make cheese, too – the farmer’s wife is noted for her cheeses. Someone must know how to look after hens as well, a task usually undertaken by women. I think we should both know more, just in case we can’t find someone to manage the farm for us in Australia. Will you?’

  ‘Why not? At the very least, it’ll get me out of the house more. What do you think your mother will say about it, though?’

  ‘I shan’t tell her what we’re doing. She’d be furious.’

  ‘If only your father would change his mind and help you go out to Australia. I’m longing for a home of our own, however small.’

  Francis put his arms round her and held her close, loving the feel of her head resting on his shoulder. He’d fallen in love with her at their first meeting, but his parents had opposed the marriage, since she brought very little to it financially, just a few hundred pounds. ‘He will one day. I’ll wear him down until he realises I won’t change my mind this time, as I did with the other things I tried.’

  Francis wasn’t as sure about his father capitulating as he tried to sound. He felt ashamed to be living at home at his age, dependent on his father with only a tiny annuity inherited from an aunt. He’d not been feeling well lately, had been coughing a lot, losing weight. He’d have to consult the family doctor if his health didn’t improve.

  Would Australia be a better place for a man like him? Surely he couldn’t be mistaken in what it had to offer. After all, his cousin Paul was living in the Swan River Colony, which some called Western Australia and had written about the opportunities it offered a man like Francis in glowing terms. What reason could Paul have to lie about that?

  Joseph Blake endured the sermon, hoping his boredom didn’t show on his face. He wondered if the Methodist services were any more interesting. They certainly had some stirring hymns – he’d heard them as he walked past and lingered to listen. And the members of the congregation seemed friendlier towards one another than most of the people at this church were. Why, here they even sat in strict order of social status, with the servants and labourers at the rear.