Tangled Threads (11 page)

As her gaze came closer to home, to the trees of Bernby Covert, the lump of sorrow and disappointment in her throat had threatened to choke her. Her emotions were in chaos. She loved and hated
Stephen Dunsmore all in the same moment. She had turned away to walk slowly back to the farmyard. Already the place had a deserted air. There were no pigs snuffling and grunting in the sties. No
hens scratching and complaining in the yard. Even the cows in the neighbouring field had been taken away. Bill had come to the farm early that morning, an embarrassed flush on his ruddy face.
‘I’m sorry, Eveleen, but Jackson’s ordered me to take all the livestock up to the big house.’

In the strange silence, Eveleen had leaned on the gate and looked towards the western sky to watch the red glow of the sinking sun silhouetting the ramparts of Belvoir Castle on the distant
hills. It was a sight she had always loved, one that her beloved father had always relished and they had often stood together on this very spot and watched the glorious sunset of a late summer
evening. No wonder, Eveleen thought, that her mother had found refuge in this place and could not bear to leave it.

As the sun sank below the skyline, Eveleen had leant her head on her arm and shed tears for her deep sense of loss and loneliness. When at last she raised her head again, a velvety dusk had
fallen. Then she glanced back, just once, to the dark shape of trees and tall chimneys of Fairfield House.

‘I’ve shed my last tears over you, Stephen Dunsmore,’ she vowed, but as she turned to go into the house, to spend the last night under the roof that had been her only home, the
misery was like a leaden weight inside her.

Now, in the cold light of morning, she took a final look round.

‘Evie.’ Ted came towards her, his face unusually solemn. ‘I just wanted to say – I mean, I know me dad and me mam have said it all – but . . .’ He was gauche
and clumsy, but Eveleen knew he meant well. ‘Don’t forget us, will you? And if you need any help, well, just send word and we’ll come. Wherever you are, we’ll
come.’

She was touched by his genuine concern and, impulsively, she put her hands on his shoulders and reached up to plant a kiss on his cheek. She was surprised at the colour that suffused the young
man’s face. ‘Thanks, Ted. I don’t know what we’d have done without you all these last few days. And no, I won’t forget.’ Then she forced a smile and punched him
playfully on the shoulder. ‘And don’t you forget us either, ’cos we’ll be back. One day, we’re coming back.’

Now Ted grinned. ‘You’d better,’ he said as he helped her to climb up on to the front of the dray beside his father. Bill took the reins and, as the horse began to move, Ted
stood in the centre of the yard waving. But only Jimmy, at the back of the dray, waved goodbye in return. Neither Mary, sobbing into her handkerchief, nor Eveleen, who set her face determinedly to
the future, looked back.

As they joined the lane at the end of the track and began to turn right to take them to the main road to Nottingham, Eveleen saw a rider on horseback coming towards them, galloping at speed.

Her heart lifted in joyous relief. Stephen. He was coming to her. He was coming to rescue her family, even at this, the last moment. He hadn’t meant to be so cruel. He had been obeying his
father’s orders. He was coming to her. She put out her hand and murmured, ‘Stop, Bill. Please stop a moment.’

Bill pulled on the reins. ‘Forgotten summat, lass?’

Eveleen, her gaze still on the galloping figure coming nearer and nearer, shook her head. ‘It’s him. I knew he didn’t mean it. It’s him.’

Nearer and nearer he came, riding towards her as if his life depended on it. Nearer and nearer, not slowing, not stopping.

Eveleen gasped as the young man neither slowed his horse’s pace nor even glanced in her direction but thundered past the dray and rode on round the bend in the lane. Her gaze followed him
until she could no longer see him and the hoof beats were a faint thudding sound that echoed the beating of her heart.

Her shoulders slumped, the last vestige of hope gone. He had not been coming to her. He had not even glanced at her as he had passed by.

She felt Bill’s strong arm about her shoulders. ‘Come on, lass,’ the big man said gently. ‘Time to go.’

They set off along the lane once more with Eveleen sitting rigidly on the front of the dray beside Bill, staring straight ahead, neither speaking nor looking about her.

But Mary, sitting the other side of Bill, now twisted and turned in her seat, exclaiming, ‘I don’t want to leave, Bill. It’s such a lovely place. Such a peaceful place. Look
how pretty the trees are. They’ll be turning such wonderful colours soon, gold and brown. And the beck. Oh, how can I leave the place where my poor Walter died? How can I leave him lying
there all alone in the churchyard? I can’t bear to go.’

But all Eveleen was seeing was Stephen’s face, set in disdainful, callous lines. Then anger came to her rescue. It spurted through her, hardening her resolve. Her eyes were dry and her
head rose in defiance as she pulled in a deep, shuddering breath. ‘Don’t fret, Mam. We’ll be back. You mark my words. One day, we’ll be back.’

‘Where is it we’re going exactly?’ Bill asked.

They had been travelling the road towards Nottingham all the morning and had stopped to eat the picnic that Dorothy had packed into a hamper and insisted Bill brought.

‘They’ll not have time to be making sandwiches, poor things,’ his wife had said. ‘So I’ve packed enough for all of you.’

Now, opening it, Bill chuckled. As he had suspected, his missis had packed enough to feed an army. ‘Well, if we don’t reach wherever we’re going by nightfall, lass,’ Bill
said to Eveleen, ‘I reckon we’ve enough food here to last us the week.’

Jimmy tucked in ravenously, but Mary only nibbled at a sandwich and Eveleen chewed the food round and round in her mouth, finding swallowing it difficult for the misery still choking her.

Eveleen glanced at her mother as she answered Bill’s question. ‘It’s a place called Flawford. It’s where my mother came from.’

‘Oh aye,’ Bill nodded. ‘Can’t say I’ve heard of it, but then, I’ve never been far from Bernby.’

Tears flooded Mary’s eyes again as she said, ‘You’re lucky.’

Bill glanced at Eveleen apologetically. Eveleen said, ‘Are we on the right road, Mam?’

‘I don’t know and I don’t care,’ was all the pitiful woman would say.

They finished eating and climbed back on to the dray. Taking the reins, Bill said quietly to Eveleen, ‘We’ll go a bit further and then I’ll ask someone. Don’t bother ya
mam.’ Beneath his breath he murmured, ‘Poor soul.’

The sun was a copper-coloured ball sinking beneath the horizon when Bill, following the directions he had been given by a farmer herding his cows turned off the road skirting the south of the
city of Nottingham and took the direction towards Loughborough.

‘He said it was about a couple of miles down this road, didn’t he, Eveleen?’

Eveleen nodded. ‘We take a sharp right turn somewhere down here and then straight across at the crossroads, he said, and we’ll come to the village.’

They trundled on with Eveleen leaning forward eagerly to catch the first sight of the place that she hoped would be their home. There were houses ahead.

‘Is this it, Mam? Is this Flawford?’

Flatly, Mary said, ‘Yes, it is,’ but a few minutes later, with surprising sureness, she added, ‘Keep straight on, Bill, until I tell you to turn left.’

Eveleen and Bill exchanged a glance.

‘You do remember the way then, Mam?’

Mary’s mouth was a narrow, compressed line. ‘Oh aye,’ she said, bitterly. ‘I remember all right.’ In a lower voice, she added, ‘As if I could ever
forget.’

The dray rattled on and passers-by stared up at the three people sitting on the front and the boy at the back swinging his legs and munching yet another apple.

‘Oh my goodness,’ Mary exclaimed suddenly and clapped her hand over her mouth.

‘What is it, Mam? What’s the matter?’

‘That’s Georgie Turner as I live and breathe.’

‘Who’s Georgie Turner?’

‘A village lad, that’s all. He used to work for my father. I wonder,’ she added, musing, ‘if he still lives in one of our cottages.’

As she watched her mother’s gaze fix upon the man standing at the side of the road, Eveleen pondered. Was that all that Georgie Turner had been or had he been her mother’s sweetheart
all those years ago?

One wheel ran into a deep rut at the side of the road, causing the passengers to clutch each other in alarm and Jimmy to yell from the rear. ‘Eh, look out. You’ll have me off the
back ’ere. I’ve dropped me apple, now.’

Bill grinned. ‘Sorry, folks.’

They travelled for a short distance and then Mary spoke again. ‘Turn left.’ A few yards more and then she said, ‘Now right into Ranters’ Row.’

Eveleen gasped. ‘Is that what this street’s called?’

For the first time, Mary smiled, but it was a grim smile; a smile that did not reach her eyes. ‘No, it’s the locals’ name for it. Its proper name is Chapel Row. It’s a
dead end and a bit narrow, but there should be room enough to turn the dray around. Pull up outside that gate, Bill, on the left-hand side.’

Bill drew the dray to a halt, but Mary made no move to climb down.

‘Is this it, Mam?’

‘Yes,’ she said but still she did not move. ‘You go, Eveleen.’

‘Where do I go? That door there?’

To the side of the gate was a long brick wall with windows and a door in the centre, but Mary was shaking her head, ‘No. That’s the door to one of the cottages.’

As Eveleen looked mystified, Mary explained briefly, gesturing towards the building. ‘This is a row of four cottages. Two at either end and two in the middle that are back to back. The
entrance to the one at this side is off the street.’

Eveleen still hesitated.

‘Well, get on with it, if you’re going,’ Mary snapped. ‘Ask for Harry Singleton and tell him who you are.’

‘And then?’ Eveleen asked.

Mary’s only reply was a slight lift of her shoulders as if to say, How should I know?

Eveleen sighed and jumped down. Jimmy joined her and they stood looking up at the tall, solid gate.

‘Looks like a prison,’ he muttered and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

‘Take your hands out of your pockets and smarten yourself up a bit,’ Eveleen said, pulling his cap straight and smoothing her own wayward hair. ‘Now, come on. Let’s get
it over with.’

They opened the gate and walked through, closing it carefully behind them. They had walked into one corner of a rectangular enclosure. At the end nearest to where they were standing was the line
of cottages that her mother had described. Now Eveleen could see the doors leading to the other three homes. The street side of the building had looked austere, but on this side a huge peach tree
climbed the walls straddling the whole frontage, the fruit hanging heavily on the branches.

As she saw Jimmy’s hand creep upward towards a ripe peach, Eveleen gripped his shoulder. ‘Don’t you dare,’ she hissed.

Jimmy grinned roguishly at her, but dropped his hand away.

A brick path ran in front of the cottages and halfway along it was a pump. From this, another path ran the length of the yard, branching off to the buildings on either side and at the far end.
There were patches of garden on either side: a few flowers, but mostly vegetables – carrots, cabbage and lettuce – and, entwined in a wooden frame, a trailing blackberry plant laden
with juicy black fruit.

‘What’s that noise?’ Jimmy said. ‘It’s coming from there.’

Eveleen followed the line of his pointing finger toward the buildings standing on either side of the yard. These were obviously not homes. She took a few steps forward, staring up at the
two-storey buildings. On each floor there was one long window, with tiny square panes, running the full length of the wall.

Taking the words from her mouth, Jimmy said, ‘Them’s funny windows.’ Then he paused and sniffed the air. ‘Evie, do you smell what I smell?’

For the first time in two weeks her smile was genuine as together they said, ‘Pigs!’

The smell, and now they could hear the sound too, of pigs, was coming from the buildings across the end of the yard. They tiptoed along the brick path. Next to the pigsty were communal
lavatories, presumably for all the workers as well as for the residents of the cottages, Eveleen thought, and a coal store.

‘Why are we creeping about?’ Jimmy asked.

‘And why are we whispering?’ Eveleen giggled.

‘Because we feel like a couple of criminals, that’s why.’

Closer now they could identify the noise as the clatter of machinery coming from the long buildings.

‘It must be the workshops or whatever they call them, where our uncle has his knitting machines.’

As she glanced about her, she saw a girl emerge from a door at one end of the workshops. She had her sleeves rolled up to her elbows and she was drying her hands on a piece of rough towelling.
Steam billowed from the door behind her and Eveleen recognized the look of someone on washday. It was a bit late in the day to be washing, Eveleen could not help thinking.

The girl was slim with black hair in one long plait, although strands had escaped and lay plastered against her forehead. Her face was thin with high cheekbones and, at this moment, her cheeks
were flushed from the heat of the copper. She stared at the strangers for a moment and then slowly came towards them. Eveleen could see now that her eyes were a deep blue and fringed with black
eyelashes. Her eyebrows were neat, arched lines, so well defined it looked as if someone had pencilled them in. ‘Are you looking for someone?’ Her voice, when she spoke was soft and
low.

Eveleen nodded. ‘Mr Harry Singleton.’

‘That’s my father,’ the girl said. ‘I expect you’ve come looking for work, have you? Well, I’m sorry, I don’t think there are any vacancies at the
moment.’ She glanced at Jimmy, smiled a little uncertainly and then dropped her gaze shyly.

Eveleen’s heart fell. If there was no work for them to help pay for their keep, their uncle was even less likely to take them in.