She did not move, did not raise her hand to touch her forehead. She stood there, quite still, staring at him for several moments, then slowly she turned and walked from the room, her resolve more steadfast than ever.
Hannah did not visit Edmund again, though she heard that he was improving slowly. She had plenty to occupy her at the mill.
For the first few months, the mill ran smoothly. There was still plenty of cotton in the storeroom and another delivery arrived, but the man who brought it was gloomy.
‘Don’t know when I’ll bring you any more,’ he told Josiah, who checked the paperwork assiduously. ‘There’s a mill in Lancashire threatening to close. We’re going to go through some hard times. You mark my words . . .’
Josiah did mark his words and passed on the man’s dire predictions to both Hannah and Ernest, but Hannah refused to be downhearted.
Things were so much better. She’d arranged for the local doctor to visit the mill twice a month. Any worker who wished to consult him could do so. From the moment she’d suggested such a notion, Ernest had been all for the idea, but Josiah had shaken his head. ‘It will cost too much. If we’re facing hard times, we didn’t ought to be letting ourselves in for extra expense.’
It was strange how quickly the three of them had assumed ownership of the mill and full responsibility for its running and the people who worked there. Hannah had even thought about releasing all the apprentices who were still tied to the Critchlow name – just like she hoped the poor slaves in America would win their freedom, so she wanted to set the bound apprentices free.
‘Tell you what,’ Ernest suggested, unwilling to see such a good idea quashed by the careful clerk. ‘Why don’t we ask all the workers to contribute a penny a week towards the scheme?’
Hannah stared at him. ‘What – every week whether they need a doctor or not?’
Ernest nodded. ‘I’ve heard of it being done in other places. It’s not much, yet folk feel reassured that if they really need a doctor, they’re not going to be faced with a huge bill to pay. And there’s one mill I’ve heard of that has a visiting dentist as well. There’s a room set aside with all the equipment in. A chair and everything.’
‘Oh, now you are taking it too far,’ Josiah said, but Hannah laughed.
‘Now I’ll tell you what,’ she said. ‘We’ll sound out all the workers. See what they think, and if they agree we’ll certainly have the doctor come regularly, and if the money will run to it, we can have the dentist come if anyone needs him.’
Ernest beamed and Josiah shrugged philosophically. As long as his books balanced, he didn’t mind what the new mistress of the mill did.
And as for Hannah, she was happier than she had thought it possible to be. The mill was still working. As yet, they hadn’t even had to put any of the workers on short time and now she was looking forward to the birth of her child in a few months’ time.
Every month she wrote diligently to Auntie Bessie and Nell, and in return she received letters written by Jim – dictated to him, of course, by Bessie and Nell. Whilst they hadn’t approved of what she had done, they nevertheless still assured her of their love and wished her well.
‘Don’t forget you’ve a home here with us if you ever need it. You and your little one,’ Jim wrote in every letter.
Despite the threat of hard times to come hanging over them all, Hannah thrived and bloomed. There was only one thing that caused her deep sadness.
Not one word had come from Adam.
Sunday afternoon was the only time Hannah allowed herself some free time; the rest of the week was fully occupied with running the mill. On a surprisingly warm October afternoon, she walked along the narrow path across the footbridge over the waterfall and pulled herself up the steep, precarious path on the hillside opposite Millersbrook village and the Manor. Panting a little, she realized there would be not many more weeks when she would be able to tackle the climb. Smiling gently to herself, she ran her hand lightly over the swelling mound of her belly. ‘You’re growing fast, my little one.’ And she felt a flutter of movement and believed the child she carried beneath her heart already understood. She walked on until she rounded the curveof the hill directly opposite the impressive manor house that stood on the edge of the cliff above the deep valley where the River Wye meandered. Sitting on the grass to catch her breath, she eyed the long windows glinting in the sunlight and wondered if Edmund was behind one of them, watching her.
Then her thoughts turned, as they always did when she came up here, to Luke. Her gaze roamed the hillside. She could almost see herself and Luke running up the hill, fancied she heard the echo of their young and innocent laughter. Tears filled her eyes and she pulled at the grass at the side of her. A lump came to her throat and a sob escaped her lips.
‘Oh, Luke, if only you hadn’t died,’ she whispered. ‘If only—’
‘Hannah? You all right?’
Hannah jumped at the sudden sound of a voice. For one fleeting, foolish moment, she thought it was Luke.
Taking a deep breath, she lifted her head and squinted up against the sun to see Ted standing a few feet away, grinning down at her.
‘Ted!’
He came and sat down beside her. ‘Should you be up here?’ he asked, genuine concern in his tone. ‘Auntie Lily says you’re . . . well, you know.’ All of a sudden, the young man was embarrassed.
Hannah smiled and said, ‘I’m fine. I’m only five months gone.’ She pulled a wry face. ‘But you’re right. I won’t be able to come up here many more times. It was a bit of an effort today, I must admit.’
‘Well then, you’re not to come up again,’ Ted said firmly, but his bossiness was tempered by an affectionate grin. ‘At least, not without me.’
‘And what would your girlfriend say to that, eh?’
Ted laughed. ‘Which one?’
‘Oh, you!’ Hannah laughed and punched his shoulder lightly.
‘If you ever want any help, Hannah, you’ve only to say the word.’ Now Ted was being serious.
‘Thanks, Ted.’
She felt his gaze on her. ‘There is something, isn’t there?’
‘Well . . .’ She plucked at the grass again self-consciously.
‘Come on, out with it.’
‘It’s just that there’s two rooms at the apprentice house that we – that I – haven’t got cleaned out and whitewashed. I can’t really take in lodgers till I get them done. And I need to. Adam—’ Her voice broke as she spoke his name, but she pulled in a deep breath and struggled on, ‘was doing all that, but . . .’
‘But he didn’t get it finished before he went away,’ Ted said gently.
Unable to speak, Hannah nodded.
‘Consider it done.’ Ted grinned. ‘I’ll—’
Whatever Ted had been going to say was cut off abruptly by an angry voice. ‘Another poor sod in tow, eh?’
Startled, Hannah and Ted turned towards Daniel standing a few feet away, his hands clenched angrily by his side, his face thunderous. Ted rose to his feet and held out his hand to help Hannah up too. He knew who Daniel was, knew he was the twin of the boy who’d died years earlier, but that was all. He was unaware of the young man’s bitterness, much of which was directed at Hannah. Knowing nothing of this, Ted thought that Daniel’s interest in the pretty young woman was what any red-blooded young man’s would be.
He grinned at Daniel. ‘Jealous, a’ ya?’
Daniel’s frown only deepened and he spat crudely on the ground. ‘I wouldn’t want her if she was the last woman on this earth. You’re welcome to her. But I’ll warn you, she’s bad news. She’s trouble. And you,’ he shook his fist at Hannah, ‘you’re no better than a whore.’
He turned and began to run along the narrow, precarious path.
‘Daniel . . . !’ Hannah cried, frightened that he would stumble and pitch headlong down the steep hillside.
Ted caught hold of her arm, fearful that she was going to go after Daniel. ‘Let him go, Hannah.’ He paused
as they both stood watching until Daniel had disappeared around the curve of the hillside. ‘What’s eating him, then? Fancies you himself, I bet.’
If it hadn’t been so serious, Ted’s remark would have been funny. As it was, Hannah smiled but it was a sad smile. ‘He hates me. He blames me for Luke’s death.’
Ted was puzzled. ‘How can he do that?’
‘Mr Edmund was . . . was . . . well, Luke came to my rescue, if you know what I mean.’
Ted’s face was grim. He knew all about Edmund Critchlow and his reputation with girls, especially the young girls at the mill.
Hannah sighed. ‘That’s when they fought and Luke fell in the wheel. I suppose . . . I suppose Daniel’s right in a way. If it hadn’t been for me, there wouldn’t have been a fight and Luke would still be alive.’
‘And you’re still blaming yourself, aren’t you, Hannah?’
Hannah sank to the ground and covered her face. ‘Oh, Ted, I’ve been so stupid and . . . and wicked.’ Tears flowed down her face.
‘Oh, now come on, Hannah, love.’ Ted squatted down on his haunches beside her. ‘I can’t bear to see you cry.’
She could see she was embarrassing him, so she sniffed and brushed away the tears with the back of her hand. She forced a tremulous smile.
Now she was calmer, Ted took hold of her hand and held it between his own. His touch was warm and comforting. ‘Come on, tell Uncle Ted all about it.’
‘I . . . I thought you’d’ve known. I told Mrs Grundy.’
‘Oh, Auntie Lily wouldn’t say a word to a soul. She knows how to keep a confidence. And so do I, Hannah.’
‘I set my cap at Adam Critchlow – deliberately – to get revenge on his father.’
‘Well, yes, I’d sort of guessed that, but I don’t quite know why you had to go as far as marrying him. That did surprise me a bit.’
‘Well, I had to. How else would it’ve really hurt Mr Edmund? He’d’ve just sent me away and that’d’ve been the end of it. But now, I’ve ended up hurting myself and . . . and the man I now love.’
‘You mean, you love Adam Critchlow?’
Hannah nodded.
‘Oh.’
There was a long silence between them until Hannah could bear it no more. ‘So now you see why Daniel hates me, why Adam hates me and . . . and now I suppose you will too.’
‘No,’ Ted said at once. ‘No, Hannah, because I can understand now how it’s all come about. My family felt very bitter about our Lucy’s death so if anyone can understand why you’ve acted the way you have, then it’s me.’ He gave a rueful laugh. ‘When Lucy died I reckon me dad wanted to kill Edmund Critchlow with his bare hands. But he’d only have hurt all the family even more if he’d’ve faced the hangman for it, wouldn’t he?’
Hannah nodded.
‘And, like you say, it’s you that’s hurting now because you fell in love with Adam.’
Again, Hannah nodded silently.
‘See.’ Ted nudged her and winked, deliberately trying to lighten her mood. ‘I said you should have married me.’
‘Oh, Ted . . .’ she was crying and laughing too now.
‘Come on,’ he said getting up and hauling her to her feet. ‘It’s time you were getting home, and next Sunday I’ll come and whitewash those two rooms for you. Sunday’s the only time I get. A right couple of slave drivers, me auntie and uncle are.’
It wasn’t true about the Grundys, of course, but Ted’s words reminded Hannah of the difficulties to come. Difficulties that arose because of the struggle half a world away to free those bound to real slavery. Despite all the hardship that might result because of it, she couldn’t help but be sympathetic to the cause. And now, having unburdened herself to Ted and knowing that she still had his friendship, she returned home with a light heart and her resolve to save the mill and all its workers strengthened.
By the time Hannah gave birth, her hair had returned to its natural golden colour. She had cut it short and all trace of the dyed hair was now gone. But her baby son was born with wisps of black hair, and eyes that would soon become the dark brown of his father and his grandfather.
‘What’re you going to call him?’ Lily demanded, the first of a surprisingly long line of visitors to the bedroom in the apprentice house where Hannah lay with her son in her arms.
Smiling down at the sleeping child, Hannah traced a gentle finger around the shape of his face. The baby slept on. ‘I don’t know. I . . . I’d like to call him Luke, but . . .’
‘Best not. If Adam comes back one day, it’s hardly fair, is it?’
‘No,’ Hannah murmured. ‘No, it isn’t.’ She sighed. ‘But I don’t want to call him after any of the Critchlows, nor,’ she added with an edge to her tone, ‘my own father.’
‘Well, just choose a name that doesn’t mean anything. Just a name – the little chap’s own name.’
‘Well,’ she said tentatively. ‘I was wondering if . . . if Ted would mind if I called him after him. He’s been a good friend – a real friend to me – these past weeks and . . . and he doesn’t seem to have any hard feelings about . . . well, about what happened. And I . . . I’d like him to be one of the godfathers.’
Lily laughed. ‘He’ll be thrilled.’
‘Then will you tell him?’
‘You should ask him yourself, but I’ll tell him you want to see him.’
Two days later, Ted stood at the end of her bed, twirling his cap through his fingers in nervous embarrassment, but beaming. ‘I don’t know what to say, Hannah. I’ve never been asked to be a godfather before. What do I have to do? I mean –’ his face clouded for an instant – ‘are you sure you want me? I’m only an ordinary chap.’
‘You’re just the sort of chap I want.’ Hannah laughed. ‘You’re a good friend, Ted. I won’t forget what you’ve done for me. All you have to do is come to the christening and make some promises and then see that I bring him up properly.’ Her eyes became sad. ‘If Adam doesn’t come back, then you’re just the sort of man I’d like my son to have in his life.’ Huskily, she added, ‘I can’t think of anyone better.’
Ted puffed out his chest. ‘Then I’d be honoured.’
‘And we’ll call him Edward?’
Ted nodded enthusiastically, but now he was unable to speak for the lump in his throat.
As soon as Hannah was well enough, she wrapped the baby in warm clothes and a copious shawl and set off up the hill to the Manor.
It was time that Edmund Critchlow met his grandson.
Fifty-Eight
He was sitting in the huge window of his study overlooking the river. Like his bedroom, from here he could see the mill. The butler showed her in and as Edmund turned in his chair to look at her, she could see a vast improvement in him since the last time she had visited. The side of his face was no longer dragged down, and even in the simple act of turning in his chair, she could see that he had so much more movement in his limbs. And he no longer sat with a rug over his knees like an invalid.
His gaze was fixed upon her and the child in her arms as she crossed the room towards him. She stood before him and then bent down and placed the baby in the crook of his arm.
‘I thought it time that you saw your grandson. His name is Edward. Edward Critchlow.’ Deliberately, she emphasized the surname.
Edmund looked down at the child and Hannah was sure that his features softened.
‘He’s only three weeks old. So he’s very tiny still,’ she went on, ‘but he’s healthy and strong and he eats.’ She laughed wryly. Her breasts were sore from her demanding son, but she didn’t mind. She would put up with any discomfort for his wellbeing.
Edmund looked up and stared at her for a long moment. ‘Please – sit – down.’ He had fought hard to regain his speech, and though his words came out haltingly and a little slurred, he could at last make himself understood.
‘Thank you,’ Hannah murmured, drawing her chair close. Though she was determined to introduce Edward to his grandfather, adamant tha
t Edmund should accept the child, she was still unsure of the man’s reaction. But Edmund was holding the baby quite easily and tenderly. A slow smile spread across his face and he parted the shawl with a gentle finger to take a better look.
‘He’s – got – dark – hair.’
‘Yes, just like you and Adam,’ Hannah said.
‘Sleeps well?’
Hannah grimaced. ‘In between his feeds, every four hours round the clock.’
‘You must – be tired. Have you – help? A nursemaid?’
Hannah shook her head and said softly, ‘No. I want to care for my son myself.’
‘Then a – maid – to do housework?’
Again, Hannah shook her head.
‘Take – Sarah – for a while. Just – just to help you.’
Hannah stared at him. He was making a gesture – she knew that – a gesture towards some kind of reconciliation.
‘Thank you,’ she said graciously. ‘I would appreciate that.’
He nodded, but his eyes were still on the child.
They sat together for almost an hour, not speaking much, but there was no tension between them, no anger now. At last, the child began to stir and whimper, and Hannah rose and reached out for him.
‘He’s getting hungry. I’d better go.’
He let her lift the child out of his arms, but Hannah could read the disappointment on his face. As she settled the baby in her arms, she looked down at Edmund. ‘Would you like me to bring him to see you again?’
‘Please.’
‘Very well then. In a few days.’
‘Tomorrow?’ His tone was pleading, no longer demanding.
She smiled. ‘Very well. Tomorrow afternoon.’
As she turned to go, he said, ‘The mill . . .’
She glanced back and waited, her heart beating a little faster, expecting the worst. But to her surprise and delight, he said, ‘A good job – you’ve done a – good job.’
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