So much for a mother-in-law’s support for her son’s wife, thought Lacey, Soames’s timely announcement that dinner was ready preventing her from giving Alice a piece of her mind.
Over dinner, Alice’s attempts to resurrect talk about the strike were ignored by Jonas and quashed by Constance’s withering glare. One could almost be forgiven for thinking my dear mother-in-law secretly approves of me, thought Lacey, as Alice wilted under yet another harsh reprimand from Constance. Still, considering all the snide remarks about my lack of breeding or my Union involvement that she’s fired off in the past, I wonder how long it will be before her true colours show through.
*
The next morning Lacey took the opportunity to have a long lie in before performing her usual Sunday ritual. Later in the day, after church, she would eat her midday meal with the Barracloughs then spend an hour or two with Joan at Scar End.
Midway between sleeping and waking, snuggled under the eiderdown in the bed that always seemed half empty, Lacey was suddenly disturbed by a furious hammering on her front door. Throwing on a robe, she ran barefoot to open it. Joan’s younger sister, Maggie, fell inside. ‘Lacey! Lacey! Come quick! Our Joan got one o’ them letters. Stanley’s been killed.’
Lacey’s blood ran cold as her sluggish mind struggled to register the awful news. She clasped hold of the crying girl, close enough to feel the thud of Maggie’s heart; her own sinking to the very depths of her being. Stanley! Dead! Would this soon be Nathan’s fate? Gently disengaging the hysterical Maggie, Lacey steeled herself for what lay ahead.
Dressed any old how, and with her feet feeling as though they were made of lead, Lacey and Maggie hurried to Scar End. What would she do when she got there? How did you comfort a woman who had lost the man she loved? Would this terrible war snatch away all the brave young men before it ended?
Joan sat as though turned to stone, dry eyed and silent. ‘She’s in shock,’ whispered her mother, ‘hasn’t said a word since she read that letter.’ May whirled round, yelling at the top of her voice. ‘An’ you can stop that yowling, our Maggie. It’s our Joan as lost her husband, not you.’ Maggie shuffled into the kitchen.
Lacey knelt to chafe Joan’s lifeless hands, as though her own might imbue some inner strength. ‘Joanie, it’s me, Lacey. I’m here for you, luv. I’ll always be here for you. I’m sorry about Stanley but you have to be brave for young James’s sake.’
As though on cue, James let out a piercing wail. May lifted him from his pram. ‘He’s too young to understand an’ she’s in no fit state to mind him. I’ll take him for a walk. It might soothe him.’ Placing the howling child back in the pram, May trundled off.
In the silence that followed May’s departure Lacey cradled Joan in her arms, rocking her as a mother would a frightened child and whispering what she knew were totally useless words of comfort. Maggie mashed a pot of strong tea, Lacey almost forcing Joan to take hold of the hot sweet drink.
Suddenly the impasse exploded. Joan flung the cup across the room, a torrent of tears gushing down her cheeks as she screamed, ‘Stanley’s dead. They’ve killed my Stanley an’ left our James wi’out his Dad.’
Lacey caught Joan’s flailing hands in her own. ‘I know, luv, I know, but we’re here for you. We’ll help you get through it. Stanley loved you and little James. He’d want you to be strong for him.’
For the rest of the day they sat cloaked in misery, searching for something, anything, to ease Joan’s anguish. Eventually she fell into a fitful sleep. Lacey fed and comforted James until he too slept. The little house eerily quiet, Lacey gazed forlornly at her cousin’s ravaged face and then turned to address May Chadwick.
‘I’ll sleep here tonight. Ask your Maggie to nip up to Netherfold and let ‘em know what’s happened.’
May shook her head. ‘No lass, you get off home. I’ll stay with her. Our Joanie’ll understand why you’ve had to go.’
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Lacey replied firmly. ‘You can stay an’ all; she’ll need all of us in the next few days.’
*
Several weeks later, weeks in which Lacey thought of little else other than Joan’s grief and Nathan’s safety, Constance and Felicity called at the house in Towngate. In answer to their knock, Lacey eased her foot off the treadle, the machine whirring to a stop as she went to open the door. Constance and Felicity stepped inside, the latter chirping, ‘We thought you might like company.’
‘Go through into my sewing room,’ Lacey said, ‘it’s the only room that’s warm. I don’t light a fire in the sitting room when I’m on my own.’
Felicity and Constance did as they were bid, Constance wearing a smile of genuine concern when she saw the pile of sewing awaiting Lacey’s attention. ‘You mustn’t overwork yourself, Lacey. Had I known you were so busy I wouldn’t have suggested you make my new dress so soon after the other one.’ She sat down in a chair by the hearth.
Lacey smiled warmly at her mother-in-law. ‘Don’t worry about me; I never get tired of sewing.’ Removing the partially finished dress from the machine she held it up. ‘What do you think?’
‘It’s wonderful, my dear. You are clever.’
‘I just hope I’m clever enough to get the collar and cuffs right. This white pique’s the devil to work with.’
‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll manage. I have every faith in you,’ Constance assured her.
Lacey excused herself and went into the kitchen to make tea, smiling wryly at Constance’s last remark. Faith indeed: you couldn’t bear the sight of me a few months ago, thought Lacey, and lifted the kettle.
In the sewing room, Felicity flicked through the pages of Weldon’s Journal and Constance let her gaze rove from the pile of sewing to the pretty cushions and curtains decorating the room. This house was Nathan’s home now, a warm and welcoming haven created with love for when he returned; Lacey had made it so. Constance’s thoughts strayed to when she first met Lacey; how she had despised her. But look what she had achieved since then: whenever Nathan was with her he was at his happiest; the ladies of Garsthwaite were thankful for her sewing skills, and the women in the mills praised her to the hilt for improved facilities and fairer earnings – all this achieved not just for herself but for the happiness of others.
‘You’re very quiet, Mama,’ said Felicity, concerned by Constance’s lengthy silence.
Constance gave a half smile. ‘I was giving thought to a serious matter.’
Before Felicity could enquire what that might be, Lacey arrived with the tea. They sat at the fire, Constance gossiping about her work with the Ladies Charity Fund, and Lacey telling them about Joan and how she was coping since Stanley’s death.
‘It must be dreadful,’ Constance murmured.
‘It is, and for dozens of women like her,’ Lacey said, going on to describe the hardships many mill women suffered. ‘They rear families in overcrowded, dilapidated houses, nurse aging parents and farm out their babies to whosoever will care for them whilst they toil in the mill.’
To Lacey’s surprise, Constance listened avidly to tales involving a way of life she had once denied existed. Lacey found it hard to equate the empathy Constance so obviously felt for these women with the snobbish opinions she had held in the past.
As they sipped tea by the fire, Felicity now taking part in the conversation, Lacey was surprised when Constance said, ‘I would like to help. Surely I could use my position to make life easier for them.’
Lacey nodded enthusiastically, suggesting Constance persuade the Ladies Charity Fund, of which she was chairman, to do some good in their own town rather than for missions in far flung places.
Who’d have thought we’d ever sit chatting like this, Lacey asked herself as she drained the dregs from her cup and set it down before rising to take a letter from the mantelpiece. ‘It’s from Nathan; it arrived this morning. You can read it if you like. Mind you, I’ll be embarrassed if you read the mushy stuff at the end.’
Constance’s face lit up at t
he mention of her son and Felicity rolled her eyes as she took the letter from Lacey’s hand. ‘We promise not to read the last page.’
Lacey responded with a grin which softened into a fond smile threatening tears as she said, ‘I try to picture him out there in the trenches: First Lieutenant Nathan Brearley of the Duke of Wellington’s Regiment leading his men into battle. It sounds grand but I’d prefer plain Nathan Brearley at the Mill, and have him here every day.’
Constance clamped her lips and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she gazed directly into Lacey’s. ‘When you write, let him know that you and I are friends, because we are, Lacey. I’m sorry I misjudged you. I’m a foolish woman sometimes.’
Moved by the heartfelt apology, Lacey gave Constance a hug, at the same time thinking, I never imagined doing this, not in a month of Sundays.
Letting Constance go, she said, ‘For Nathan to know that will cheer him up no end. He loves us both, just as much as we love him. We have a responsibility to make him happy.’
Constance’s eyes filled with tears. ‘We do, Lacey.’
That same night, Lacey wrote a letter to Nathan telling him of Constance’s apology.
Six weeks later, in yet another letter, she was able to describe how, in his absence, she and Constance were getting on splendidly.
‘We are learning together, she wrote. Your mother has unintentionally taught me so much; a more refined way of speaking, table etiquette and gracious manners – all useful attributes for the businesswoman I intend to be. For my part, I’m introducing your mother to aspects of life in Garsthwaite she never knew existed, and underneath that snobbish exterior beats the heart of a very kind woman.’
Two weeks later she received his reply. Along with his usual endearments he congratulated her for ‘working her magic’ on Constance and on her success with the equal pay issue. In conclusion, he wrote, ‘still my Lacey, fighting battles for the underdog. Rather similar to what I am doing over here, although not as muddy.’
When Lacey read Nathan’s reply she loved him all the more for sparing her the gruesome details of how it truly was in the trenches. It was so like him to bear it bravely and cheerfully for her sake. Yet she knew of the horrors he faced night and day, the papers were full of it; ghastly defeats, the trenches rife with disease, food shortages and the lack of basic equipment were reported daily. Although Lacey hated the articles she could not ignore them. All she could do was pray for Nathan’s safety and his speedy return. Therefore she was overjoyed when she received yet another letter from him:
God willing, I hope to be with you sometime before the end of the month (September 1915). Can’t say why (classified info.) or when exactly. In the meantime, pray God preserves me and returns me safe to England’s shore.
Puzzled and elated, Lacey waited, sadly unable to share the joy with Joan; it would be insensitive to crow over Nathan’s imminent return knowing Stanley was never coming home. With each passing day, Lacey hugged the wonderful news deep inside.
24
Of necessity, Joan had returned to the weaving shed a week after Stanley’s death leaving young James, as usual, in her mother’s care. Day by day her grief appeared to lessen, but the bright, bubbly girl she had once been was replaced by a quiet, introspective and often distracted woman.
With Joan’s situation in mind, Lacey decided that the time was right to put her own plans for the future into action instead of just dreaming about them.
She was hanging up her coat when she heard the sound of an engine outside and above it a familiar voice saying, ‘Pick me up at this address at four on Friday.’
Lacey wrenched open the door, and, as the military vehicle roared away she fell into Nathan’s arms.
‘You seem pleased to see me,’ he chuckled, pulling her into the house to kiss her.
‘Oh Nathan, you don’t know how much. I wasn’t expecting you so soon.’ Lacey gazed into Nathan’s grey-blue eyes, his reflection mirrored in the green depths of hers and conveying the same deep love and yearning.
Over a hurriedly prepared meal, Nathan told Lacey he could only stay for two days. ‘Three days in London on military business then a quick dash up here before I’m collected and taken back to France.’ Disappointed at the brevity of his leave, Lacey determined to make every second memorable.
She watched as Nathan ravenously ate the pie she had made earlier, shocked to see how gaunt and weary he looked. Deep shadows ringed his eyes and lines etched his mouth and cheeks. In her excitement at his arrival, she had failed to notice the change in him.
They finished their meal and went to Fenay Hall, Nathan’s parents and sister elated to see him, and Lacey dismayed to find Alice and Violet there. Nathan’s family clamoured for his attention and Lacey, accepting it was their right to do so stood back, secure in the knowledge that he would be hers alone once they returned home.
Unfortunately, this left her as prey to Alice and Violet. ‘I gather you’re living in the house in Towngate,’ Alice remarked archly. ‘In the event of Nathan’s untimely death it will fetch a tidy sum; but then I suppose that’s part of your plan. Did you fool him into believing you were with child? Is that why he married you?’
‘How dare you suggest such things,’ Lacey said, stung by the wicked insinuation. She kept her voice deliberately low to prevent being overheard; the last thing she wanted was for this spiteful bitch to ruin Nathan’s homecoming.
‘By rights it would have been my house had you not lured Nathan from me with your filthy ways,’ Violet said peevishly. ‘Mama says a woman who sells her body is nothing but a common whore.’
‘Indeed she is,’ Alice said, ‘and now we have one in the family.’
Lacey clenched her teeth, biting back the words ‘stick your head up your arse and go to hell, you old cow,’ and saying instead, ‘your bitterness demeans you.’
‘Not as much as it will you,’ hissed Alice. ‘One of these days I’ll make you pay for ruining my daughter’s future. I’ll ruin yours. I haven’t done with you by a long chalk.’
Lacey pushed Alice aside, feeling an urgent need to distance herself from this malevolent woman. Whereas Alice’s jealous spite had previously merely frustrated, it now alarmed her.
*
Later that night, her fears allayed by Nathan’s passionate love-making, Lacey felt invincible, and Alice’s sinister threats merely nonsense spewed from an embittered woman’s mouth. Yet, when she woke they came back to haunt her.
After visiting the Barracloughs, Lacey and Nathan walked up Cuckoo Hill, rejoicing in each other’s company and sharing the details of their separate lives. Only when they were out on the moor, did Nathan talk about his time in France.
‘It’s the strain of waiting to go into action that’s worse,’ he said. ‘It shreds your nerves, and afterwards, when we count our losses we’re left wondering what it was we achieved. In whatever place we’re based we can only measure what we have done – we never know the whole story.’ He shook his head, exasperated. ‘It’s all so confusing, and the muck and mess of our squalid living conditions do nothing to raise morale. It’s the young boys I feel for most.’
Lacey stroked his cheek. ‘Anyone would think you were an old man the way you talk.’
‘I feel like it out there. I’m not yet twenty-five but compared to lads of seventeen I do at least feel I’ve experienced some of life’s wonders; marrying you being one of them. Those boys have never had the opportunity to make a career or follow their dreams; some have never had a girl and, sadly, some never will.’ His face creased with anxiety at this depressing observation. ‘But enough talk of war, let’s talk about you.’
Lacey described the march and the campaign for equal pay, eventually lightening the mood by relating amusing incidents at the Mill, Nathan comforted as he listened to the familiar occurrences.
‘I still go to the Union meetings and I sometimes help your mother with her charity work. She visits needy families, delivering clothes and useful household
items she’s been gathering furiously for weeks.
‘Good Lord! I can’t imagine Mother doing that? There was a time when she wouldn’t even walk the streets where they live.’ Nathan chuckled wryly.
‘Now she’s hell bent on doing good deeds,’ Lacey giggled.
Nathan laughed out loud. ‘No doubt with plenty of encouragement from you.’
Stopping to rest on a rocky outcrop in the vast expanse of heather and bracken they watched a buzzard circle high above their heads before swooping for its prey. Lacey recalled Alice’s threats.
‘Why is Alice so infuriated by our marriage?’
Nathan looked puzzled. ‘What has she been saying?’
Lacey told him everything.
‘The vile creature!’ Nathan expostulated, ‘I’ll put her straight when next I see her. For years now, she’s foisted her bucktoothed, dim witted daughter on me, and Violet stupidly complies. I know that sounds unkind but both Father and I know what their game is. Alice’s husband gambled his fortune, leaving her virtually penniless when he died. It’s not me they want, it’s my money; or should I say the money I’ll inherit when Pa’s no longer with us.’
‘So it’s greed that makes her so vicious,’ Lacey said. ‘I thought maybe you had been promised to Violet.’
‘I never looked twice at Violet; as for marrying her…’ Nathan’s laughter rolled across the moorland. ‘Pay no heed to Alice’s idle threats, the woman’s barmy.’ He pulled Lacey to her feet. ‘Now, let me take you home and show you exactly why I married you, Mrs Brearley.’
*
Shortly before Nathan’s transport was due to arrive he took Lacey in his arms, saying, ‘If anything happens to me, Lacey, all this is yours. John Hinchcliffe has the details and he’ll advise you if needs be.’ The mention of the solicitor made it sound ominous.
The Girl from the Mill Page 20
