House of Angels (9 page)

‘Stop it,’ she cried, trying to sound like a disapproving schoolmarm. ‘Stop this at once.’ But they weren’t even listening to her. They had her apron entirely off now, followed by her cap. The men were crowding her, pushing and shoving, stroking her breasts and hips, and Mercy found herself helplessly cornered, unable to escape.

Quite how it came about she could never afterwards explain. Maybe she slipped, or one of the men pushed her, but suddenly she was on the ground and they were all over her like a troop of inquisitive monkeys. She could smell their tainted breath, feel the roughness of their hands as they poked and probed at her.

She let out a stifled scream, unable to help herself, recognising something like joyous madness in their eyes, and knew they could easily turn into a rabble out of control.

Fear cascaded through her. What did they intend to do to her? She was quite incapable of fighting them all off. As she pushed one away another quickly took his place. Mercy felt trapped. One lifted her skirts, exposing her legs and she cried out in terror. Where was this nurse Prue had mentioned? Why didn’t the woman come and help her?

And then she saw her, standing by what must be her
office door. She seemed perfectly aware of what was going on as she stood watching, arms folded across her flat chest, saying nothing, and making not the slightest effort to step in and help her new assistant.

‘Help! Get them off me,’ Mercy cried.

The man who had pulled up her skirts was now on top of her, grunting like a rutting animal and his mates were cheering and egging him on.

‘Go on, go on.’

‘She
is
wearing drawers,’ he cried in delight, hooting with laughter, as if he’d made a great discovery. ‘See, she is, she is.’

‘Let me see,’ cried another, pushing the first one away.

Hands reached for her, and for one terrible moment Mercy was quite certain they meant to strip her entirely, but then a voice rang out. Not that of the nurse but a high-pitched falsetto.

‘That’s enough, boys. We’ve had our bit of fun, now no more rough games. Let her go.’ It was the man in the dress, and, by a miracle, the rabble obeyed. One moment they were like rampaging lunatics, the next they melted away, chuckling and giggling together, quite happy with their little joke. Some even redid the buttons of her frock, tied on her apron and tried to put her cap back on.

‘I like you,’ said one young man, giving her a kiss.

Mercy was shaking, quite beside herself with terror, but somehow managed to thank him.

The man, or woman, whatever he was, helped Mercy
to her feet, brushed down her skirts and found her shoe, which seemed to have come off in the scuffle. ‘They can get a bit enthusiastic at times, bless them. Are you all right, love?’ His voice this time was deep and throaty, a man’s voice, and he held out a large calloused hand. ‘The name’s George, by the way, but everyone here calls me Georgina.’

He shook her hand, grinning all the while. Then, leaning closer, he – or she – whispered softly in her ear. ‘You won’t tell on them, will you? It was only high spirits. They meant no harm, and they don’t get much chance of a laugh in this place. Only, if they get punished, it could all turn very nasty.’

Mercy thought of the tramp in the cell breaking stones, and again glanced over to the office door. The nurse in charge of the ward was nowhere to be seen. Shocked as Mercy had been by the assault, she realised it would do her no good at all to make a complaint. Perhaps they were simply testing her, and she really didn’t seem to have any choice over which ward she was assigned to.

She managed a tight little smile. ‘No, of course I won’t tell,’ and then, adopting a slightly scolding tone, added, ‘But can we make sure it doesn’t happen again?’

Georgina giggled behind her hand. ‘We’ll try to behave better, but you’re so pretty. And I do like your drawers. We couldn’t resist finding out if you had any on. Will you show me how to make a pair just like them, with the frill round the legs and everything?’

And suddenly Mercy found herself laughing too. ‘Can
you sew?’ she asked. ‘Any of you?’ And as heads were shaken and frowns gathered, she laughed again. ‘Then I’ll have to teach you. But the other men won’t want a pair of drawers. What can we teach them?’

‘Dignity,’ said a stern voice from behind her. ‘Something in which you seem to be sadly lacking, girl.’

It was Saturday afternoon, Maggie was taking a rest and catching up on her diary, and Livia decided on a short walk. She was already missing Ella, even if her sister had only been gone a few days, and had some serious thinking to do, for which she needed a clear head.

She opted to walk right up to the castle ruins, quiet at this time of day, and settled herself on a grassy mound. A cow lifted its head to stare at her, its jaws working, before ambling away. Livia loved the peaceful solitude of this place. The castle was built back in the twelfth or thirteenth century by one of King John’s powerful barons, so far as she could recall from school History lessons. By the fourteenth century it was in the hands of the Parr family, and some said Catherine Parr herself was born there, and had spent much of her childhood in Kendal. She too had been married off against her will to two geriatric husbands before accepting the dubious honour of becoming the sixth wife of Henry VIII.

What was it about men? Why was their father so
hard on them? Livia knew that her father worshipped power. Craved it as others might crave whisky. She heard occasional talk in the town that Councillor Josiah Angel took bribes. That a suitably substantial sum slipped quietly into his bank account would earn you the right to build where you wished, expand your factory, or treat your employees in whatever manner suited you. Such gossip distressed her greatly as Livia felt a natural pride in her father’s achievements as a self-made businessman.

It also upset her that he made little more than a perfunctory show of caring about the welfare of the poor, being of the view that their penurious state was due to their own fecklessness, and in no way connected to the high rents he charged them to live in the property he owned.

Kendal was a prosperous town and Livia was aware that she lived in one of its better class districts, with everything she could wish for by way of material comforts. She couldn’t imagine what it must feel like to share a room with ten others and be uncertain where your next meal was coming from. But the old saying that money didn’t necessarily bring happiness was certainly true in her eyes. There were other ways of bringing misery into a person’s life beside poverty, and surely the lack of love was the worst cross to bear.

Her father had made her mother’s life a misery, constantly criticising her and finding fault as if to prove that he was better than her, no longer the young man who had joined her father’s business as a mere apprentice. He seemed to carry a chip on his shoulder because they came
from different ends of the social spectrum, and Josiah never missed an opportunity to put her down.

In the end the poor woman had taken refuge in ill health, thankful to be out of the firing line of his caustic remarks and cruel tricks. Livia felt her loss keenly, but the responsibility of caring for her two younger sisters, as she’d promised their dying mother she would do, harder to bear than she’d ever imagined.

Things had got steadily worse once his three daughters were his only target. Whatever dissatisfaction or disappointment he felt in life, he took out on them, viewing them as mere pawns to use in his
empire-building
. Ella had been married off to a man she barely knew, and poor Maggie was so fragile and vulnerable Livia feared for her health. She felt quite anxious about her, but then she’d always been a sickly child who needed care and rest. Yet Father made no allowances for that fact.

He seemed to expect to control every part of their lives and Livia was fully aware that if he had his way, he would marry her off to Henry. Livia had no intention of marrying anyone.

She stared out over the view of the town she so dearly loved, the huddle of grey stone houses, Victoria Bridge that straddled the river, and the Helvellyn range visible on the distant horizon. Despite her strong loyalty and love for the town of her birth, Livia longed to pack her bags and walk away and be free. But that was impossible. Where could she go? Besides, nothing would induce her to leave Maggie.

Yet the fact that she stayed didn’t mean she had any intention of being bullied as her poor sisters were. She meant to resist him to her last breath.

Dinner that evening was reasonably civilised, if rather quiet. Maggie was troubled by an irritating cough, as was so often the case, and picked at her roast lamb before taking herself off to bed early. Livia issued a whispered reminder for her to take a sip of her cough mixture before retiring, and worried in case her departure might create a fuss. Their father seemed to revel in punishing his younger daughter for her apparent intransigence over the poor state of her health. Tonight, however, he seemed preoccupied, and more subdued than usual.

Then quite out of the blue, he said, ‘I was speaking to Henry Hodson this morning. He will be calling upon you tomorrow to pay court and make you an offer. See that you’re ready to receive him. Put on your prettiest frock, the jewellery your mother left you, whatever you young ladies feel appropriate for such an occasion.’

His tone was cold and matter-of-fact, as if he were discussing a business proposition and not a possible marriage for his daughter.

‘I would like to have this little matter resolved fairly soon. Time is of the essence, Lavinia. You are no longer the young girl you once were, nor so attractive a proposition in the marriage mart as you might imagine. And you really are far too opinionated for your own good. Fortunately, Henry Hodson has known you long enough to be able to ignore these flaws. As a wealthy
young businessman, he can also afford to overlook such trifles as your lack of dowry. See that you make an effort to receive him with good grace and charm, and bring him nicely to the point, if you please.’

Having settled the matter to his own satisfaction, Josiah rose to his feet, dusted a few stray crumbs from the swelling dome of his stomach, and made a move to retire to his study to partake of his usual glass of port and smoke a cigar. Once the engagement was announced his debts would be nicely settled and the accounts could go hang. He might then employ a clerk to take that particular chore off his shoulders.

Livia could barely comprehend the words.
Little matter! Too opinionated for her own good! Bring him to the point!

She sat stunned, open mouthed, shocked to the core, and only when the door was about to close upon his departing figure did she jump to her feet and summon up the courage to respond.

‘I can’t do that, Father. I won’t!’

He turned on her, his voice a roar of displeasure. ‘You can and you will.’

‘No. Never!’

He raised a fist, his face livid with anger. Livia braced herself for the blow, but then he seemed to stop himself. Perhaps he realised that a young woman with a black eye or bruise on her chin would not look half so attractive to a young suitor. With immense difficulty he brought himself back under control.

‘You’ll do what I say, miss, or pay the consequences.
And you well know what those will be.’

Livia tilted her chin as father and daughter confronted each other, eye to eye, neither prepared to be the one to back down. At length, Josiah told her quite coldly and calmly that he would be at the store all the following day until seven-thirty as usual. ‘You may call in and tell me the result of the interview at any time. You’ll find me in my office. Once I know this matter is settled I shall begin to make the necessary arrangements.’

Then turning on his heel, he left her.

Livia remained where she was, shaking, although whether with rage or fright, she wasn’t quite sure. Josiah Angel had made his wishes known, and, like it or not, as a dutiful daughter she was expected to carry them out. She must accept Henry Hodson’s offer, whatever her own feelings on the matter.

Amos left Ella alone the second night, and the one after that. Every night she lay in bed expecting him to come, but he never did. Listening with acute attention for the slightest sound, she could almost hear him breathing as he paused at the bedroom door, then his step would continue onward and upward. She assumed he slept in the attics above.

She felt cold and lonely in the strange bed, the darkness seeming to press in upon her. Why did he not come? Was it that he found her unattractive? Why couldn’t he make love to her?

Somewhere out on the empty, silent fells an owl
hooted, reminding her of their isolation, and she shivered. The sounds at Angel House had been so much more comforting: servants quietly going about their business, the clip-clop of horses’ hooves in the street as carriages returned home late after some party or soirée. She longed for her own room, her things about her, her own bed, knowing her sisters were close by.

What were they doing right now? Staying up late and whispering together, giggling and being silly, as they had used to do on high days and holidays? Such delights were closed to her now. She was a wife. Amos could return to her bed whenever he chose. He had that right, as her husband, and she would be expected to carry out her wifely duties, whatever they might entail and however disagreeable. She didn’t even know whether to be glad or sorry that she’d had no opportunity yet to discover.

Was he punishing her for mentioning Danny Gilpin? He seemed convinced of her guilt despite her protestations of innocence. Tension mounted in her as she waited.

One morning, Ella was brought roughly awake by a hand shaking her. Dawn was breaking, casting an eerie light through the thin bedroom curtains. What was he doing in her room? She sat up in panic. Had he at last come to claim his conjugal rights? But then she noted the grimness of his face. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

‘Get up, it’s snowing.’

‘Snowing? In
May
?’

‘It’s not unheard of in these parts and a late snow can do untold damage to the lambing. We have to get out on them fells and check on the flock.’

‘
We?
’

A man of few words, he didn’t trouble to reply, and paying no heed to the shock in her voice he simply ordered her to put on her warmest clothes and look sharp about it. Trained to obedience by her father, Ella did as she was told and what seemed only moments later she was trekking up the fell behind him, clad in boots and waterproofs, in freezing temperatures with snow falling all around. Beside him were his trio of working dogs, old Beth having been shut up in the house, much against her wishes.

‘We’re going up by the Tongue,’ he called to her, which meant not a thing to Ella. Her lips felt stiff with cold, and despite the woollen hat and gloves he’d insisted she wore, her cheeks and nose were absolutely frozen. What on earth were they doing walking out in snow at this hour of the morning? Was he mad?

They’d crossed the river at a shallow, narrow point and now they skirted what looked like a huge cliff rising out of the snowy ground. From here they began to climb, fording a tiny beck and continuing up a slippery slope pitted with rocks and boulders. Ella was gasping for breath before they’d been walking for ten minutes, thought she might very well expire, and Amos’s boots were little more than a blur in a
whiteout
of snow ahead. Trying to keep those sturdy feet in
view and watch where she put her own seemed well nigh impossible. Amos had given her a stick to help her, but it was long and clumsy, and she couldn’t seem to handle it right. She stepped on an icy stone and her feet went from under, sending her crashing to her knees in the ice and snow.

She called to him. ‘Amos, wait for me. Wait! I need to rest.’

He paused for no more than a moment, just long enough for her to scramble to her feet and reach him, panting for breath and with a stitch in her side. ‘You must keep up, Ella.’ Then he was off again, striding up the mountainside as if it were no more than a Sunday afternoon stroll. Ella was very nearly in tears. She was not only exhausted but her wet skirt was flapping against her legs, soaking her to the skin. And only a short time ago she’d been warm and asleep in her bed.

By the time they reached the top of the Tongue, Ella was weeping, wishing she’d never come to this godforsaken place, never married this dreadful man. What was he thinking of to bring her up this mountain pass in this awful weather? Did he want to get her killed?

As they reached the summit, climbing the last few feet in a series of zigzags, she realised to her relief that the snow had stopped falling and, as if by way of reward, the sun peeped out from behind a fat grey cloud, illuminating the scene. Ella gasped in astonishment. A panoply of mountains stretched out before her, their tops crested in a cloak of snow and ice, seeming to
ripple into infinity. The beauty of the scene filled her with awe.

Amos took her arm and led her to a rough shelter of stones and at last allowed her to catch her breath and rest. If she looked back she could see the Kentmere valley, and to the north yet another dale, even more remote than their own. Amos told her this was Mardale, and the small lake she could see was Haweswater. Despite herself, Ella was entranced. She could see a wooded hillock, a cluster of farms and cottages that looked very like dolls’ houses from this distance; a church and inn, and what must be a school. A whole village cast down in the middle of nowhere. She could see tiny people going about their business.

Did they ache to live in the town, as she did, or were they content with their lives? Did their fathers bully them and organise them without even a by-your-leave, or did they get to choose whether they stayed or left the dale? Her thoughts were interrupted as Amos was again on his feet.

‘If you’ve got your breath back now, we need to press on. We must check every ewe, make sure no lamb is lost in the snow.’

‘But what can
I
do?’

‘You can help. Sheep tend to shelter beside dry stone walls, so take your stick and gently probe wherever the snow lies thick. If you find a sheep or lamb under there, give me a shout. Come on, there’s a deal of ground to cover.’ Then he was striding away from her, the dogs fanning out at his command, and it suddenly
occurred to Ella that she was on her own. She’d been given a task to do and she must do it, however unjust and unfair it might seem. What did she know about sheep? Nothing! He had absolutely no right to bring her up onto the wild mountaintops and leave her to hunt for possible dead or injured sheep. What was the man thinking of?