Alley Urchin (35 page)

Part Four

England 1877

New Hope

Joy and grief were mingled in the cup; but there were no bitter tears:

Charles Dickens, Oliver Twist

Chapter Twelve

‘Your father is a fool. You are
not
going to Australia . . . I forbid it!’ Caleb Crowther slammed his clenched fist on to the desk, rose from his seat and, with a look of thunder, he fixed his piercing blue eyes on his grandson’s face, saying in a threatening voice, ‘While you and your mother choose to live under my roof, you will do as I say. Your father deserted you both, as far as I’m concerned, and this . . .’ he snatched a letter from the desk and crumpled it in his fist,‘ . . .
this
is what I think of him and his letter!’

‘Excuse me, sir. My father did
not
desert us.’ Edward Trent met his grandfather’s stare with a forthright expression. ‘He’s worked hard over the years to build a future for me and my mother. He wants us there, with him . . . and, if anything, it is we who have deserted
him
! I’ve disappointed my father by choosing a career other than the sea . . . but he hides that disappointment and gives me great encouragement in my chosen profession, even though it means we remain far apart. As for my mother, he begged her on his last voyage home to return to Australia with him. She refused, and since then, my father has written many letters, pleading with her to join him, but still she refuses. No, sir . . . it is not my father who has deserted us, but the other way round in my opinion. You have seen the letter which I received only this morning, arranging for me to visit him in Australia before I embark on my studies. I owe him that much . . . and if I may say so, sir . . . I intend to go, with or without your blessing.’ The whole time that he was speaking, Edward Trent kept his dark green eyes intent on his grandfather’s face, and even though the older man continued to test him with a challenging stare, the young man never once flinched or hesitated in his defence of the father he loved.

‘The devil you say!’ Caleb Crowther stormed round the desk and came to a halt only inches away from his grandson, who believed for a moment that he was about to be physically struck. Instead, he was surprised to see a devious smile uplift the other man’s face as he said in a goading manner, ‘So . . . you intend to go with, or without, my blessing, do you?’

‘I’m sorry, sir, but yes . . . I do. My first duty is to my father.’

‘Hmh!’ Caleb Crowther’s unpleasant expression grew even more devious. ‘And do you intend to go with, or without . . . my money?’

‘I have money of my own. A regular allowance sent from my father,’ Edward Trent reminded him.

‘Indeed you do . . . you do!’ agreed his grandfather, still smiling as he stepped towards the desk, where he eased himself back on to its edge, his eyes drilling into the young man’s face. ‘And . . . as I understand it, your mother is trustee of this money?’

‘She is, yes, sir.’

‘Then you
won’t
go, I’m afraid!’ Caleb Crowther’s smile broadened as he watched the puzzled look come on to his grandson’s handsome features. ‘You see, Edward . . . you might be prepared to go off to the other side of the world . . . with or without my permission, but my daughter, Martha, is another matter. Like the dutiful woman I have raised her to be, she will do
nothing
without my permission.’

Edward Trent’s heart sank within him. What his grandfather was saying was sadly the truth. He had his daughter exactly where he wanted her and if he instructed that Edward’s money was not to be released, then nothing would persuade her to go against her father’s word.

‘May I go now?’ Edward asked, trying not to let the disappointment show in his voice. ‘It seems our conversation is at an end.’

‘Oh, look here, Edward,’ Caleb Crowther knew well enough that, as always, he had won the day. The boy would stay here, in Breckleton House, until the day he would leave for London and his studies. That was as it should be! But it did not please him to be at odds with his only grandson, whom he admired as a likeable and worthy young man. ‘Please understand that I’m doing this for your own good. Who knows what dreadful accident could befall you on such a long and arduous journey? It really is foolhardy and selfish of your father even to suggest it!’ Rogues and ruffians abound everywhere . . . waiting to pounce on such innocent fellows as yourself! Have you both so easily forgotten how you were set upon and almost killed by such people?’ He waited a moment before continuing, ‘Well, let me tell you, Edward, my boy, that
I
will not forget so quickly! That urchin girl who had you secreted away will not elude me forever, believe me.’

‘The girl did me no harm, sir. I told you that, the very moment it all started coming back to me. She was the one who found me . . . she saved me from drowning, and afterwards, she returned me safely to my grandmother.’

‘Of course she returned you! Half-dead . . . and for a
price
!’ Caleb Crowther could not contain his rage at the girl who had escaped him that night, when he thought he had her safely in his clutches. Like always, when he was made to think of it, his reason became impaired by his fury at being so easily outwitted by an alley urchin, and, if he suspected right, by the offspring of Marlow Tanner and his own sinfully begotten daughter, Emma Grady!

‘You have it wrong, sir,’ insisted Edward Trent, ‘the girl is innocent of everything. Her only crime, if indeed there was one, was in asking the price of a friend’s funeral . . . someone she dearly loved, and who otherwise would have been buried in a pauper’s grave. I ask you, sir, how can that be a crime?’

‘Don’t be so gullible, boy! She’s no better than the worst rogue who might roam the streets. But I have her face imprinted here.’ He tapped his temple, before going on with conviction, ‘She won’t escape me for ever, make no mistake of that!’

‘Why do you hate her so? I’m no liar, sir, yet you will not believe me when I tell you that this girl committed no crime against me. She only did all she could to help me. Have you another reason for wanting her put behind bars?’

When Caleb Crowther realised the way in which his grandson was looking at him, and even questioning his true motives for wanting the girl put out of the way, he grew more cautious. ‘Leave such matters to me,’ he said abruptly. ‘Now you may go. Ask your mother to come and see me . . . about better investing your allowance. I was wrong to let her handle it in the first place. Put all nonsense about going to Australia out of your head. In less than a year, you’ll be immersed in your studies. Until then, you can better prepare yourself, and perhaps find time to become more involved in the day-to-day running of a textile business . . . which, I might remind you, will no doubt be your own one day.’

It was Saturday, the second day of September, and Cook was in a bad mood. ‘Don’t talk nonsense,’ she snapped at the scullery-maid, ‘wherever did you hear such utter rubbish . . . electric lighting indeed! I’ll not see the day when they put it in
my
kitchen . . . I shall be kicking up the daisies first, I tell yer!’

‘Well, I know what I heard!’ retorted Amy. ‘When I went past the dining-room last night, the door was partly open and I heard the master’s guests talking about it . . . honest I did.’

‘Get away with you!’ snorted Cook, brandishing her rolling-pin and causing the maid to scurry from the room into the pantry, where she made an act of cleaning the shelves. ‘If your hands worked half as hard as your ears, my girl, we’d get things done a lot quicker round this place!’

‘It looks like I’ve arrived at a bad time.’ Edward Trent poked his face round the door, saying with a half-smile. ‘Shall I come back later?’

‘No, lad.’ Cook was always pleased to see this young man, who had a likeable character and a winning way with him. ‘Get yourself in here.’ She inclined her head towards the noise which was coming from the pantry. ‘Amy!’ she called.

‘Yes?’

‘Away upstairs and see to the fire-grates. There’s a nip in the air and the master will want the fires lit tonight, I’ve no doubt. Find the housekeeper . . . tell her you’ve done your tasks in the kitchen, and I’ll not have idle hands about me.’ When the little figure had gone, as quickly as her legs would allow, across the room and up the stairs, Cook turned to the young man with a hearty laugh, ‘Poor Amy doesn’t move so fast as she did some twenty years ago!’ She shook her grey head and cleaned the flour from her hands, in order to fetch the big enamel teapot from the tressle by the fire. ‘Still . . . we’re none of us getting any younger, my lad . . . I’m sure it won’t be long now, afore the master sends me packing through them doors.’ She filled up two rose-patterned teacups and pushed one towards him. ‘If there’s one thing I’m really afeared of, young Edward . . . it’s growing too old to be of use, and being left to rot in some dingy back room down some dark forgotten alley.’ She was in a very sorry and melancholy mood, on account of the fact that her old bones were beginning to stiffen, and her eyesight wasn’t what it had been.

‘That won’t ever happen to you.’ Edward Trent thought his own troubles seemed like nothing when compared to the dreadful fate which Cook anticipated. ‘I’ve heard my grandmother say often how marvellous you are, and how she could never find another like you in a month of Sundays.’

‘Oho! . . . It ain’t the mistress who I’m afeared might chuck me out, lad. Oh no! It’s your grandfather as worries me. Me and him have never really hit it off, y’see, we’re allus . . . suspicious . . . of each other. I’m no fool, and I knew fer sure that, given the proper excuse, he’d take real pleasure in seeing me pack me bags!’ She took a moment to squeeze her sizeable frame into the wooden armchair situated at the top of the table, then, taking a noisy slurp of the hot tea, she made a small grunting noise and shook her head. ‘My! He’s a sour-tempered man is your grandfather . . . if you’ll pardon me saying so?’ Yes, and a rogue of the worst kind into the bargain, she thought to herself . . . a murderer too, if that precious letter was anything to go by!

‘I’ll even say it
myself
,’ rejoined Edward Trent. ‘I know he’s fond of me . . . and I have a certain respect and liking for him. But he will ride roughshod over anything he takes a dislike to . . . however much he might be upsetting others.’

‘My very point exactly!’ remonstrated Cook, putting her cup on the table and leaning her great chubby arms on the table ledge. ‘Been at loggerheads, have you . . . you and your grandfather?’

‘He insists I won’t be going to Australia to stay with my father a while. He’s talking to my mother at this very minute . . . forbidding her to finance the venture.’

‘Oh dear!’ Cook pursed her thin lips into a perfect circle of wrinkles.

‘But it’s
my
money . . . sent to me by my own father!’

‘Makes no difference, lad. Still . . . I can’t say I’m surprised he won’t let you go. Not if it’s true what they say . . . that your father’s set up in business with Emma Grady.’ Of a sudden, Cook realised how she was letting her mouth run away with her. Emma was forbidden talk in this house . . . had been these many years.

But Edward Trent’s interest had been aroused by the mention of Emma Grady’s name, and not for the first time. His father had spoken highly of the woman who had gone into business with him. Edward himself recalled when he had shown curiosity about Emma, in a communication he had intended sending to his father. But it had been snatched from him and flung into the fire. His mother had been very agitated and had straightaway sat herself at the bureau, where a letter had been angrily written, instructing his father never to mention that woman’s name again. In all the letters Edward had received since, there had never been one single reference to ‘Emma’. ‘Who is Emma Grady?’ Edward asked now, his eyes intent on Cook’s anxious face.

‘Why, I’m sure it’s none of my business, young Master Trent,’ Cook replied in a jolly fashion. ‘Now then . . . off with you, and let a poor soul get on with her baking!’ When she saw how unhappy he looked, Cook’s old heart was sorry at his plight. ‘Aw, look here . . . talk ter yer grandmother, why don’t yer? Why! Yer the very apple of her eye, and I’m sure if it were only a matter o’ money that prevents yer from visiting yer father, well . . . she’ll help, I’m certain of it. Y’know, the mistress don’t
always
agree with what yer grandfather says, and she’s allus had a special liking fer Silas Trent, ’cause he’s a good man, and she knows it.’ A slight noise on the stairway caused her to gasp out loud and clutch at her chest. Seeing that it was only Amy returning, she visibly sagged with relief. ‘Oh my poor heart!’ she cried, sinking back against the wall. Then, fixing her small worried eyes on Edward Trent, she told him, ‘Go on! Do as I say, lad. But, don’t you mention to anybody that you and me were discussing yer grandfather’s business . . . else me life won’t be worth living!’

‘Why, I swear the thought never even crossed my mind.’ Edward Trent laughed, and put a finger to his closed lips. Halfway up the stairs, he called back in a quiet voice, ‘Thank you for your suggestion, all the same. It’s the very thing, I’m sure.’

Amy had watched Edward Trent go, then, leaning her whole body across the table, she whispered something to Cook which made that woman’s kindly eyes grow big and round with astonishment. ‘
What
was that you said?’ she demanded, not being at all certain that she had heard right the first time.