Farewell to Lancashire (7 page)

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.

F
rancis 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 to 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.

Saunders was a particularly poor preacher, losing himself in classical allusions and not saying anything meaningful to most of his congregation. Joseph didn’t attend every week, couldn’t face it.

As they filed out of the church, the Vicar was waiting in the porch to say goodbye to his more important parishioners. He bent forward to say quietly, ‘Could you stay behind, please, Mr Blake? I’d like to discuss something with you.’

Joseph went to rejoin his wife and suggested she walk home with some of their neighbours. ‘The Vicar wants a word.’

As she walked away he stood watching with a frown. There had been something in her eyes, something quickly hidden, but had it been triumph? What had she been up to now? Her behaviour was becoming increasingly erratic and spiteful. She seemed to enjoy causing trouble far more than helping people, and her animosity towards his family was more than a little ... unbalanced.

Saunders came across to join him, surplice ballooning out in the wind. ‘Chilly day, eh? Shall we go into my room?’ He didn’t wait for a response but led the way inside. ‘Do take a seat. I’ll just slip out of this.’ He heaved the surplice over his head and tossed it carelessly over a chair back, then sat down on the other side of the desk, frowning, fiddling with a pen, as if unsure how to start.

‘What did you want to see me about?’ Joseph asked as the silence continued.

‘No use dressing it up in fancy words – it’s those nieces of yours. The lady helpers are concerned that they’re mingling with the other girls at the sewing classes and causing trouble. I was wondering if we could find a way to ... well, send them away from Outham. There are schemes I know of for rehabilitating young women of loose morals and—’

‘Those girls are not of loose morals!’

Saunders lowered his voice, his expression sympathetic. ‘My dear fellow, your wife knows all about them, has confided her worries in me. She says you refuse to face facts and I can see she’s right when I talk to them. They have no respect for their betters. Why, even the way they look at one is impudent. And they answer me back as if they’re my equals. It simply won’t do.’

‘My wife isn’t telling the— She’s mistaken. My nieces are decent young women, all four of them. Just ask the Minister at their chapel, if you doubt my word.’ He could see his companion didn’t believe what he was saying, and he knew no love was lost between the two clerics, so leaned forward and said emphatically, ‘And if you try to send those girls away, Vicar, I shall not only stop attending this church but make a few other changes in my life, which will include ending the contributions I make regularly to your various church funds.’

Mr Saunders breathed in deeply. ‘I see.’

‘I hope you do.’ Joseph stood up and left without a farewell, not going straight home because he was too angry to think straight. He had to walk twice round the park before he calmed down enough to deal with Isabel. You’d think he was used to her ways by now. But she’d not attacked his family before, not like this.

When he went into the house, he found Dot waiting to serve luncheon and sent the young maid away ‘till I ring’.

Isabel was standing by the window of their parlour and after one quick glance, she turned her back to him and stayed that way.

Anger that had been held back for years suddenly boiled over and sent him across the room to grab her shoulder and swing her round. ‘You’ve been doing it again, haven’t you? Spreading poisonous gossip, this time about my nieces? In spite of what I said to you.’