The Bobbin Girls (38 page)

Ever since she’d bumped into James Hollinthwaite, half her mind seemed to be taken up with thinking of Rob: how he was, where he was living, and if he ever thought of her. Though, as Ma said, she shouldn’t really be thinking of him at all, not as an affianced bride a mere few weeks from her wedding to another man. It was just that the nearer the day came, the more she worried over it, and the more that small kernel of disquiet grew.

She asked herself questions all the time. Did she love Mickey enough to spend the rest of her life with him? Why did she feel as if he’d talked her into this? Or as if everyone had taken it for granted that they would marry and she’d had no say in the matter at all, which was nonsense of course. She was a grown woman, surely old enough to make up her own mind. Even so, she’d once tried suggesting they might postpone it and he’d been aghast at the idea.

She knew Ma watched her, aware of her confusion and unease, but Alena felt unable to explain how she felt because she didn’t fully understand it herself. She couldn’t describe the sense of uncertainty, the dizzy fear of being out of control of her own life. She’d made the decision readily enough, giggling with Sandra over the anticipated joys of her wedding night as if it were all a lark. So why didn’t she feel happy? Because it wasn’t a lark, or because every bride felt this way? Perhaps it was simply the wedding day itself that she dreaded. She’d always hated a fuss, and knew she wouldn’t feel comfortable in a fancy frock with everyone looking at her. So, if she was now experiencing doubts, or cold feet, as her mother put it, surely these would pass once the day itself was over and done with, everyone had thrown their confetti, played their little jokes and she and Mickey were alone in the little cottage?

Oddly enough this prospect did nothing to lighten her mood and Alena felt a flare of irritation at herself. What on earth was the matter with her?

Dolly and Tom had suffered their share of problems, after all, losing the baby and very nearly their marriage. But they’d pulled through and it was lovely now to see their obvious happiness in each other At one time this would have seemed impossible to achieve. They’d got themselves into such a muddle of misery and grief that they’d both quite lost sight of the fact that they were really very fond of each other. Perhaps that was what was happening to her.

If only as happy an outcome could be found for poor Sandra. Harry now planned to take himself off to Liverpool or Manchester, some place where he hoped to find better luck in his search for employment. Lizzie doubted he’d be successful even there, but then she wanted him at home. At least she and Sandra had become quite close in their shared, if different, love for Harry.

The wind tugged at her tam o’shanter and Alena grabbed it, chewing on her lower lip as these thoughts raced through her head. Mickey was working late, and had told her that he couldn’t come round this evening. This was happening more and more. Sometimes she wondered how it was he managed to find so much overtime when the mill was supposedly not doing as well as it should. Oh dear, there she went again, mistrusting him when he was really only trying to save hard for their life together. Why did loving someone have to be so complicated? Love should be freely given, joyfully received, and not hindered by awkwardness, jealousy and pride, or ruined by secrets and the interfering lies of other people. A lie to which James Hollinthwaite had as good as admitted.
 

What was it he had said? ‘You saw through my ploy, didn’t you?’ What’s that if not an admission of guilt?

It was just as the first drops of rain started to fall that she made her decision. Alena saw exactly what she must do. She must take control of her own life. She must make up her mind, as Lizzie had suggested, if her feelings for Rob were truly in the past. Only then could she decide about Mickey.

The next day at work Alena feigned stomach pains, and the moment her shift was over she packed a bag and persuaded her brother Jim to give her a lift in his small van.

‘I’ll be back in a day or two. Tell Mickey I’m sick,’ were her parting words as the van set off, bumping and rattling up the rough track into the woods. He deposited her at the Forestry Commission’s offices, wished her luck and set off back home at once, Alena assuring him she could get a lift from someone when she was ready. She knocked on the office door but no one answered. When she tried the handle, she found the door locked

‘They’ll be out inspecting the work. There’s a sign on the door, see. Back later. Only they didn’t come back later, and probably won’t at all now, not till tomorrow.’

This information came from a man leaning against a stone wall, smoking a cigarette. He wore the familiar work clothes of a forester and Alena tentatively approached him with her questions.

Rob, it seemed, was not in Grizedale. The man told her he was either at Ennerdale or Whinlatter, he wasn’t sure which. Depression settled upon Alena as, with night coming on and no arrangements made for where she was to stay, both places seemed as far distant as the moon. Then she had an idea.
 

‘It’s really Mrs Hollinthwaite, his mother, I’m looking for. I was hoping he could tell me where I could find her so she can help me with - with a little matter.’ The little matter of her future happiness.

The forester had no knowledge of Rob’s mother, and Alena knew that if he had met Olivia he would certainly have remembered her. But he did direct her to some good clean lodgings at a cottage nearby where a Mrs Blamire, who remembered Rob well since he was so tolerant of her cats, made a special fuss over this lovely young girl who had come looking for him. Alena accepted a hot drink then went straight to bed to avoid answering further questions.

Refreshed after a night’s sleep, she enjoyed a good breakfast of porridge and a platter of ham and eggs any forester would welcome. As she settled her bill, she asked the landlady, ‘I don’t suppose you know a Frank Roscoe?’ It had come out of nowhere and she didn’t quite know why.

The woman laughed. ‘Doesn’t everyone? Follow the smoke signals and you’ll find him not far away.’

‘Smoke signals?’

‘Where the charcoal burner is, sitting beneath his crab apple tree, you’ll more than likely find Frank.’

Alena did not find Frank. But she did find an old man chewing on a bent Woodbine, and he was indeed sitting beneath a crab apple tree beside what appeared to be a smoking beehive. He looked so disreputable that for a moment she almost turned and ran away, but he interpreted her silence otherwise.

‘You’re admiring my tree?’

‘I was wondering how my landlady knew I would find you beneath it.’

‘Ah, charcoal burners always have a crab apple on their pitstead.’

‘Why?’

He laughed, then tapped the side of his nose. ‘One of the mysteries of the forest. And very often an adder too, but I do not care for the creatures myself.’

‘I was wondering if you’d seen Frank Roscoe?’ She really had no wish to discuss snakes.

‘Good gracious me, you ask a great many questions, child. My mother told me that curiosity is ill manners in another house, but since we are not in a house mayhap I will forgive you. Frank is a will o’ the wisp, here today and gone tomorrow.’

‘I see.’ She couldn’t disguise her disappointment.

The old man stood up, lithe and tall, lifted his hat and swept it before him, the pheasant’s feather making an arc of colour as he did so. ‘Pray allow me to introduce myself - Isaac, at your service. And you are?’

She rewarded him with her sunniest smile. ‘I beg your pardon. Alena Townsen.’ As she thrust out a hand, he lifted it to his mouth and kissed it. Alena giggled.

Ah, yes, indeed. I have heard him speak of you.’ He replaced the hat gently and tweaked the feather.

‘Have you?’ For a moment she was puzzled, and then frowned at her own foolishness. In a matter of weeks Frank Roscoe would be her father-in-law. It was hardly surprising he had mentioned her name. ‘What about Kate and the other coppicers. Do you know where they are? Kate might know where he is and I need to speak to him.’ She heard the pleading note in her voice, like a soft young girl which, she supposed, was exactly what she was.

The old man was packing gaps in the stack with sods of earth to keep out the air and stop his charcoal from burning up and turning to ash, but he cast sly glances in Alena’s direction from beneath his wide-brimmed hat.

‘The coppicers are working about two miles away, in the next clearing, I believe.’ A glimmer of hope but then Alena recalled that Kate had never known where Roscoe was before, so why should she now? It was as she offered her thanks and turned to go that the old man casually remarked, ‘Not that he sees much of Kate these days. He gets home more regularly than he did. He’s a changed man is Frank, since he found the love of his life.’ Isaac smiled his knowing smile. ‘Name of Olivia, as in Twelfth Night. A good, sweet lady. I had the honour to meet her once. But you’d have to travel to the forests of Thornthwaite to find her, and perhaps the trip would be too far for you, dear child?’

‘Oh!’ Alena said, eyes shining. ‘It wouldn’t be too far at all. Do you, by any chance, know of anyone going to Keswick who could give me a lift? Or the location of the nearest bus stop?’ If she had to walk every step of the way she would find the place. Suddenly it didn’t seem any distance at all.

Chapter Twenty

She found Olivia kneeling on the lawn in her small front garden, planting out bright-eyed pansies beneath a silver birch. When she saw Alena, she dropped the trowel and ran to envelop her in a bear hug. She smelled of warm earth and flowers, and the soup she must have eaten for lunch. When the greetings were over, she insisted on warming some up for Alena. Olivia carried it out to her on a tray, together with a plate of her famous scones.

‘I must have known you were coming,’ she said, shooing off a few cheeky sparrows so she could place it on a rustic table.

‘As delicious as always,’ Alena told her when she’d finished every last drop. ‘No wonder Mrs Milburn was always so grumpy, you were a much better cook than she ever was!’

‘I wasn’t then, but I am now,’ Olivia said, laughing.

They sat in companionable silence, saying little but content to be together again, enjoying the pale spring sunshine. Alena worried over how to broach the subject so close to her heart. Later she was shown over the tiny cottage to admire the white-walled rooms, rustic furniture, a small untidy kitchen with ingle-nook and ratten crook from which hung the griddle. But most of all she loved the glorious views from the tiny windows: Skiddaw and Blencathra lifting their magnificent heads above their fellows to gaze imperiously down upon the slate calm of Bassenthwaite. Alena was entranced.

‘No wonder you love it here.’

Olivia knelt again on the lawn and picked up her trowel. You’ve come about Rob and those dreadful lies, haven’t you?’ She slid a pansy into place and patted the soil firmly about it.

Alena took a deep breath. ‘I wondered if you knew anything - anything at all to help me? My mother has told me what she knows, which is very little, but there must be more. Who was this girl? Where did she come from? Who am I? She met Olivia’s gaze, sensing a sympathy and understanding she had not expected to find.

Olivia sat back on her heels, a slight frown marring her brow. ‘I’m afraid I never saw her, or even knew she existed until recently so I can add little to the tale on my own account. I once promised Rob I would investigate, and I did, in a perfunctory way, but failed to locate either Stella or the vicar. I didn’t pursue the matter further. Couldn’t bring myself to, I suppose. Afraid of what I might find. But then Rob, more determined than I, has finally taken up the case and he ... ‘ She stopped speaking to look up as they both heard the click of the garden gate. When she turned back to Alena, she was smiling. ‘But he can tell you himself.’

And suddenly there he was, tall and bronzed and more handsome than ever. He strode up the garden path towards her but although his eyes were fixed upon her face, he wasn’t smiling.

‘I’m getting married on the last Saturday in May.’ She hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but the words sprang from her lips as if they must be spoken. Olivia had suddenly found something terribly important to do in the kitchen and Alena and Rob sat awkwardly, side by side, on the garden bench beneath the spreading arms of a sweet chestnut. They weren’t even looking at each other. Over the Skiddaw range the clouds gathered into a swirling mass, a frosting of snow still lighting the jagged peaks, reminding them that summer was still some way off.

There’d been an attempt at polite conversation, desultory and hesitant, as if they were strangers.

‘Olivia seems happier than I’ve ever seen her,’ Alena remarked. ‘She deserves it. Oh, I’m sorry.’

‘No, don’t be, it’s true. My father never made her truly happy. Too busy telling her how to behave, and filling in her diary. Whereas Frank seems to have allowed her to find herself. She’s changed. She gardens, and smokes, dresses in the kind of unfashionable clothes the old Olivia wouldn’t have been seen dead in, and she laughs a lot. Even tells jokes. All that tightly wound up emotion that made her so impossible to live with seems to have gone, or found a positive outlet. She’s so relaxed now, so obviously enjoying life.’ He picked up a soggy leaf and began to tear it into little pieces. His fingers were still long and slender, for all they were now weathered and hard. Alena wanted to kiss them.