The Girl from the Mill

by Chrissie Walsh

  Dozey from lack of sleep, Lacey invited him into the kitchen where she was preparing breakfast. ‘Bear with me, John. I was up half the night. Molly had a boy. Our Matt’s like a dog wi’ two tails.’

  John conveyed congratulations and accepted a cup of tea. Lacey told him about the bill of sale she’d found in Grandma Barraclough’s trunk.

  ‘Well done,’ he replied, ‘that will stand as proof in court if Arnold Beaumont still persists in claiming the fields. I’ll go and see him tomorrow.’

  Lacey lifted Richard into his high chair then set a bowl of porridge in front of him. ‘By the way, any more word of our friend, Mr Lynch?’ she asked, refilling John’s cup.

  John shook his head. ‘Not to date; maybe Mrs Burrows has come to her senses. Lynch has yet to file the case in court; I checked. If he does it will be unpleasant for you, to say the least.’ He drained his cup and prepared to leave. ‘Try not to worry, Lacey,’ he said fondly, his respect and admiration for this woman having grown considerably since she married his friend, Nathan. ‘Whatever she throws our way, I’ll make sure we win.’

  After John had left, Lacey sat sipping tea and nibbling a bacon sandwich. Richard contentedly crumbled crusts into the remains of his porridge, Lacey too distracted to stop him. Deep in thought she weighed up her present situation.

  Mentally she ticked off the positives: Richard: bright and bonny. Business: thriving. Joshua’s problem: more or less solved. Matt and Molly: son safely delivered. Joan: new husband, healthy son. Lacey’s League: providing sustenance and comfort to the needy. Everything as it should be, except for my own problems: No word from Nathan or the War Office to let me know whether he’s alive or dead, and Alice’s threats still hanging over me like a storm cloud. I seem to have a knack for making things right for other people, but I have no control over the problems in my own life. Feeling cheated, she cleared the cups and plates into the sink.

  ‘But I’ve got you, my little love, and that makes everything worthwhile,’ she said cheerily, lifting Richard and transferring him to the draining board. ‘Sit there now while Mammy wipes you down. You’ve made a right mullock of yourself.’

  *

  Days dragged by, Lacey in a perpetual state of waiting; waiting for news of Nathan’s whereabouts, and Alice’s court case. And whilst she waited, she worked.

  All day, bright April sunshine had streamed through the open doors of the workroom. Now, with the afternoon drawing to a close, the shop shut and the seamstresses oiling their machines, Lacey lolled in the doorway looking out into the yard.

  Close by the door, Molly’s Joseph slept in his pram and across the yard Richard, James and David played pig-in-the-middle.

  ‘When the sign over the door was painted it should have had Lacey’s Modistes and Nursery written on it, ‘cos ever since we started up we’ve never been without a baby in the place,’ said Lacey.

  ‘It’s Joan’s turn to provide the next one,’ Molly quipped, ‘I’ve done my bit for the time being.’

  ‘I’ll be pleased to oblige,’ chirped Joan.

  Lacey loved the camaraderie of the workroom. We’re blessed, she thought. It’s a luxury to earn your living with your children close by throughout the day. Not like the weaving shed where women were forced to farm out their younger offspring from early morning until late evening.

  Richard toddled towards her, his sturdy little legs pumping as he chased the ball, and his grey-blue eyes, when they met Lacey’s, so like Nathan’s.

  My son’s no longer a baby, she thought, he’s a grown boy. He can run, jump and kick a ball. He can feed himself and even hold a simple conversation. He’s learning to form opinions, telling me his likes and dislikes, the latter in no uncertain terms on some occasions. He learns or does something new almost every day, and as he grows into a proper little person his father isn’t here to witness any of it.

  She shook her head in despair. All over the country there were children like Richard, children who didn’t know their fathers, and fathers who didn’t know their children. The war had deprived thousands of men the pleasure of seeing their children grow. When it was over they’d come home, strangers to their own sons and daughters. And the fathers who didn’t return would be forever strangers, no more than a photograph on a shelf, remembered, or forgotten, by only the older family members.

  Although she often showed Richard photographs of Nathan and had taught him to call the tall, handsome man, Daddy, she knew it had no tangible meaning. He had no memories of the feel of Nathan’s strong arms, the sound of his voice or the soft touch of his lips.

  Joan broke Lacey’s reverie. ‘Me an’ Molly are off up to my place. Come up when you’re ready.’

  Lacey lingered in the doorway lost in thought then, hearing footsteps, turned to greet Alfie, just returned from work.

  ‘Hello, Alfie; how’s the new job?’ Lacey liked Alfie. He was kind and sensible, and he made Joan and David happy.

  Alfie grinned. ‘Not bad, Lacey; I’m managing rightly.’ He waved his prosthesis. ‘You’d be surprised what I can do wi’ this.’ He flexed the muscle in his upper arm, the false hand opening and closing with ease.

  ‘I bet I would,’ Lacey observed saucily, ‘and it’ll come in useful for keeping our Joanie in line; a few sharp nips with that and she’ll soon do as she’s told.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think it’ll come to that. She’s grand is your Joan. I couldn’t believe it when she said she’d take me on, what wi’ me being only half a man.’ He flicked the prosthesis again.

  ‘You’re a man an’ a half, Alfie,’ said Lacey, her tone brimming with admiration. ‘You’ve come through the war, seeing and doing things too horrible to imagine, but you haven’t let it beat you. You might have left a bit of you behind in France but now you’re going forward, and I wish you every success.’

  ‘Thanks, Lacey.’ Alfie glanced down at his false arm. ‘I wa’ shattered when it happened. I couldn’t imagine how I’d live without it, but when I wa’ at Roehampton getting it fitted I saw lads wi’ both arms an’ legs missing. I realise how lucky I am.’

  ‘Lucky and brave, Alfie; it takes a lot of courage to overcome something like that.’

  ‘I don’t consider meself brave, I wa’ scared out o’ me wits half the time, but I fought alongside men who had the courage of lions. There wa’ one lad in our regiment went out into No Man’s Land twice to bring his wounded mates back; third time he wasn’t so lucky.’

  Alfie’s eyes darkened at the bitter memory. ‘This war’s done some terrible things to thousands of us. I saw chaps blinded, gassed and shell shocked; an’ they were the lucky ones. Them as weren’t were blown to bits.’

  Lacey sighed heavily. ‘When will it all end, Alfie?’

  Alfie smiled. ‘Well now, if you can believe what you read in’t papers we’ve got Gerry on the run. T’allies are pushing ‘em back rightly. Up on t’Ypres Salient an’ the Hindenburg Line we’ve had some cracking victories. T’Germans are said to be running out o’ food an’ firepower. If we keep it up we’ll beat ‘em in no time.’

  Lacey was impressed. ‘You’re very knowledgeable, Alfie.’

  ‘Aye, well, once you’ve been involved an’ know what them lads out there are going through, you tend to take an interest. I’d still be there but for this.’ He flicked the prosthesis.

  ‘I don’t read the papers; it’s too depressing. But tell me this; do you know anything about soldiers who were taken prisoner?’

  ‘Aye, there wa’ whole units of ‘em rounded up in some places. Some of our lot were captured. It wa’ a right bloody shambles. We never saw ‘em again. One o’ t’officers said they’d be taken to a camp in Germany. They don’t kill ‘em. There’s rules an’ regulations for taking prisoners.’

  A surge of hope flared in Lacey’s chest; if Nathan had been captured he could still be alive. Lacey’s eyes begged Alfie for reassurance. ‘Your husband hasn’t been declared dead,’ he said. ‘He could well be sitting out the war in a camp in Germany. Nev
er give up hope, Lacey.’

  Joan and Molly clattered downstairs from the apartment above, Molly clutching an armful of baby clothes Joan had passed down. ‘I’ll be off then, Matt’ll be wondering where I’ve got to,’ she said, and amid a chorus of goodbyes she stepped out into the street.

  ‘An’ I was wondering where you’d got to,’ cried Joan, squeezing Alfie affectionately and pecking his cheek.

  ‘Me an’ Lacey wa’ just talking,’ Alfie explained.

  ‘We were,’ Lacey agreed, patting Alfie’s good arm. ‘And I really appreciated our conversation, Alfie. Thanks very much.’

  Alfie went off upstairs. Lacey watched him go then addressed her cousin. ‘He’s a lovely man, Joanie.’

  ‘Isn’t he just. I can’t believe how lucky I am to have found him.’ She adjusted the pretty scarf covering her damaged scalp. ‘What wi’ my bald head I thought no man ‘ud ever look at me again. But it doesn’t bother Alfie. I suppose we’re two of a kind. We’ve both got summat missing.’

  ‘There’s nowt missing about you two. You’re as whole as anybody I know, and I love the pair of you. Now get off upstairs and make his tea.’

  Alfie’s personal courage, and his belief in the recent successes of the British troops filled Lacey with hope. Furthermore, if Alfie believed Nathan was a prisoner of war then so would she.

  Later that evening, as Lacey and Richard played merrily, the telephone rang. It was John Hinchcliffe. ‘Is it convenient for me to come and see you within the next hour? It’s with regard to Alice Burrows. I’d rather talk face to face than tell you over the phone.’

  The happy feeling Alfie had inspired suddenly dissipated. As Richard’s tower of brightly coloured blocks tumbled into disarray, Lacey wondered if Alice was about to shatter her hopes in the same way.

  Richard was tucked up in bed by the time John arrived, Lacey waiting fretfully for what he had to say. She led him into the sitting room, his warm smile and cheerful greeting raising her spirits. ‘Tea?’ she offered.

  ‘I’d love a cup. It’s been something of a day, I can tell you.’

  In the kitchen brewing a pot of tea and setting cups on a tray, Lacey mulled over John’s attitude. He didn’t sound like the bearer of bad news; perhaps she was worrying unnecessarily, or maybe he was delaying the blow he was about to deliver. Her hands shook as she lifted the tray, the cups rattling in their saucers.

  ‘Thanks.’ John took the tea Lacey handed him and settling back in the armchair, drank deeply. Lacey sat in the chair opposite him, her mouth dry, her tea untouched.

  ‘I needed that,’ John said, setting down his cup and wiping his lips. ‘Now! Down to business. Alice Burrows is hell bent on punishing you. The case has been filed.’

  ‘Does this mean a court case?’

  John nodded solemnly. ‘It does. The woman hasn’t a hope of winning, but it will mean you have to defend yourself in court. Any hopes you had of keeping the Brearleys and your business out of it will go up in smoke. We can’t prevent it from going public.’

  Lacey’s eyes glittered angrily. ‘In that case, prepare a counter claim; charge her with theft, libel and an attempt to defraud. Do whatever it takes to prove that that woman is a menace to society.’

  After further discussion of how he would handle the case, Lacey saw John out and for the rest of the evening she seethed with rage. By bedtime her anger had turned to determination; she would not let this bloody woman ruin her.

  *

  ‘I’m taking Alice Burrows to court,’ Lacey told Joan the next day.

  ‘An’ so you should,’ said Joan fervently, ‘she’s evil.’ With Lacey so downcast, Joan hugged her comfortingly.

  A shadow blocked the sunlight in the open shop doorway and they drew apart. Sam Barton lolled against the doorframe. ‘I think I’ve got summat you’ve been waiting for,’ he said, smiling fondly at Lacey and holding out a letter. ‘I hope I’m not mistaken.’

  Lacey reached for it with trembling fingers. She knew that Sam, like any regular postman, recognised the identity of the senders by the handwriting or postmarks on the envelopes he regularly delivered. Her fingers grasped the envelope. She didn’t dare lower her gaze. Her eyes on Sam, they begged him not to have made an error of judgment. Sam stared back, then nodded encouragingly.

  Lacey lowered her gaze.

  33

  ‘Tell us again what he says,’ Joan urged.

  Lacey didn’t need to refer to the letter, its contents were already printed on her heart and in her mind. ‘He was captured in a battle on the Ypres Salient and taken to a prison camp somewhere in Germany; I don’t know which one, the name’s been crossed out. There were other men from his regiment with him. They weren’t allowed to contact anyone.’

  ‘That’s downright cruel, keeping a man’s family in the dark, letting ‘em think he’s dead when all the time he’s alive,’ Joan protested.

  Lacey shrugged sadly. ‘It’s war, Joanie. War is cruel.’

  ‘If they weren’t allowed to write to anybody, how did Mr Brearley manage to get that letter to you, Mrs Brearley? Has he escaped?’ Katie’s eyes grew large as her imagination ran riot.

  Lacey’s lips quirked and she shook her head, almost sorry to dispel Katie’s vision of a heroic Nathan duping the German guards and then making a hazardous journey through enemy countryside to freedom.

  ‘No, Katie; he’s still a prisoner. They were moved to another camp, one the Red Cross has access to. Then they were registered as prisoners of war and allowed to write home. Thank God for the Red Cross. Nathan says they supplied them with food parcels and soap.’ She chuckled. ‘He says he hasn’t had a proper wash in months.’ She stood up, crackling with energy. ‘He says I can send him parcels. He’s asked for cigarettes, chocolate and socks. Once I’ve recovered my senses I’m going to pack the best parcel you’ve ever clapped eyes on.’

  Later that day, the joyful news having been relayed to Constance and Jonas, Lacey sat with Richard on her knee and a photograph of Nathan in her hand. Although the little boy was too young to understand the import of what Lacey told him, she repeated the miraculous tale yet again. ‘Your Daddy’s alive and well, and if God is good he’ll come home to us once this war is over.’

  Richard pointed at Nathan’s image. ‘Daddy come home,’ he lisped.

  ‘Yes,’ Lacey replied with conviction, an inner voice asking, but when? How long before I see him again?

  *

  Lacey stepped out of the post office, her third parcel to Nathan about to start its journey to Hesse in Germany. In reply to Nathan’s second letter she had included toothpaste, lice powder, gravy browning and more soap, each item bought and packed with loving care in the hope that these simple comforts would reach him and make life more bearable.

  ‘Oh, Lacey, I’m glad I bumped into you. We’ve another case of flu in Jackroyd Lane.’ Maggie, the team leader of Lacey’s League wore a worried expression as she delivered the news.

  The League, now a respected body of women, had gone from strength to strength, now with six full time employees caring for the needy. Lacey and Constance’s motto being ‘share what you have with the have-nots’ they still covered much of the cost, but just recently Lacey had persuaded the local Council, businessmen and churches to contribute to the League’s wage bill.

  Persuading them had not been an easy task. As usual, Lacey’s persistence and Constance’s influence triumphed, the worthy members of Garsthwaite society taking pride in the knowledge that its poorest inhabitants did not suffer unduly. In fact, the Garsthwaite Echo and the Huddersfield Examiner had both written articles praising their ‘magnanimous humanity.’

  Concerned by Maggie’s news, Lacey asked, ‘How many cases to date?’

  ‘Four; an’ that young woman who gave birth last week has it really badly. T’doctor says she’ll not see tomorrow.’

  ‘Is there anyone to care for the child?’

  ‘Aye; her sister’s already minding it.’ Maggie shook her head, frustrated.


  Lacey sighed. ‘If that poor lass goes, it’ll bring the death toll in Garsthwaite to eleven. That young lad who works for the butcher died almost immediately he caught it, and according to the newspaper there’s hundreds of people dying from it all over the country.’

  ‘They’re callin’ it Spanish Flu,’ Maggie said, her lip curling distastefully. ‘We might a known it ‘ud be foreigners that started it. It’s bad enough them bloody Germans killin’ our lads in France without the bloody Spaniards sending us their rotten flu.’

  Lacey suppressed a smile at Maggie’s distorted vitriol; but the flu epidemic was no laughing matter. Most of those who had fallen prey to the deadly virus appeared to be aged between twenty and forty. Usually the very young or the very old succumbed whenever a plague of illness struck, but not this time. Was this a punishment intended for her generation? First, so many young men killed in the war, then people of both sexes dying from Spanish flu.

  Maggie hurried off, Lacey promising to meet with her later, at the same time reminding herself that after she had visited the sick woman’s house she’d take a bath before going anywhere near Richard. She mustn’t bring illness into the house; not now she and Richard had everything to live for; Nathan was alive.

  *

  The flu epidemic continued to take its toll, but whilst there was great sadness in the homes of the victims, by the end of October 1918 the inhabitants of Garsthwaite were agog with anticipation.

  ‘The Germans are definitely in retreat,’ announced Jonas, flourishing the newspaper Soames had brought to the evening dinner table. ‘According to this report Ludendorff has resigned and the American President is refusing to negotiate for an amnesty until his demands are met. It looks as though the war’s almost won.’

  Constance reached across the table to clasp Lacey’s hand, Lacey returning the pressure as they smiled at one another through eyes blurred with tears. ‘It won’t be long now until Nathan’s home,’ said Constance, her voice thick with relief.