The Miller's Daughter (26 page)

‘Leonard’s trying to find somewhere better for us, really he is,’ but even as she spoke the words, she could hear the doubt in her own voice.

‘Yes, yes,’ William said, a little too quickly and patted her hand, but she could see that he had to force a smile on to his lips. ‘Now, I’d better have a look at my
namesake.’

Emma watched as he bent over the rough cradle and saw his expression soften, a small smile curve his mouth. What a wonderful father he would make; the thought came unbidden into her mind. He put
out his forefinger, roughened and calloused by hard work, and gently, so very gently, touched the child’s cheek. The infant stirred and snuffled and William straightened up. ‘I’d
better not wake him,’ he whispered.

Emma laughed. ‘He’ll be waking soon to be fed. He’s a greedy little devil.’ She pulled a wry face. Her breasts were heavy with milk, and tender, and every feed was an
agony for her.

‘I don’t know why this time’s so different to when Charles was born,’ she murmured and a frown creased her forehead. ‘And talking of Charles, he ignores the baby.
He won’t even look at him.’

‘I expect he feels pushed out a bit,’ William said gently. ‘After all, he’s had you to himself for six years.’

Emma lay back against the pillows, her long, black hair spread around her and smiled up at him. ‘Of course you’re right. I should have realized. I must try to make more fuss of
Charles.’ She smiled and then added, ‘Enough about me and my problems. Tell me about home? You haven’t said anything about the village. Have you seen Sarah and Luke? How is poor
old Luke?’

‘I – ’ he hesitated and then the words came in a rush, ‘I don’t go to Marsh Thorpe very often. Sarah sent word to me by the carrier about the bairn and I came
straight here to see you.’ There was silence as he seemed to be struggling with the next words. ‘Jamie – Jamie and me – we still don’t get on, you know.’

Emma sighed. ‘I do so wish it was different,’ she said sadly and once more she felt William’s gaze upon her. He opened his mouth to speak, but whatever he had been about to say
remained unspoken, for at that moment they heard the sound of raised voices on the floor below, then of footsteps mounting the stairs and the raucous voice of Mrs Biggins. ‘Leave the poor
lass alone, can’t you? ’Er only a week past her birthing. ’Er man’s not at home, I tell you.’

But the footsteps continued relentlessly up the stairs towards Emma’s door.

‘It’ll be Forbes, the rent man. Please, William, just ask him to come back later. Leonard should be home then.’

William opened the door and Emma heard the man’s surprised. ‘Oh, good afternoon, sir. Is Mrs Smith at home?’

William’s tone was polite, but clipped. ‘She is, but she is not well enough to see you.’

‘You the doctor, sir?’

‘No, I’m just visiting. She’s asked me to tell you to come back later when her husband will be here.’

‘Oh aye,’ the voice was not so pleasant now. ‘You in on it an’ all, mate?’

‘I beg your pardon?’ William began and Emma felt a sweat of embarrassment break out all over her. She pushed back the covers and put her feet to the floor.

William, hearing her movement, leant backwards to look at her around the open door. ‘Get back into bed, I’ll deal with this.’

He stepped out on to the landing with the rent man and closed the door behind him. Suddenly weakness gripped her and she felt dizzy and sick. She lay back and closed her eyes. She could hear
them talking outside her door but could no longer hear what was being said.

‘William . . .’ she called weakly, but the murmur of voices continued for a few moments before the door opened again and William stepped back into the room, closing the door behind
him once more.

Emma opened her eyes. ‘Is he coming back later?’

William did not come back to the bed where Emma lay, but bent over the cradle once more. ‘Er, he says he’ll leave it until next week and try to call when Leonard will be at home. I
made him see you weren’t up to being bothered at the moment.’ He looked up at her. ‘Has a doctor seen you, Em?’

She shook her head, touched by his concern, his kindliness making her feel unusually weepy. ‘I’ll be fine in a day or two. I just feel so dreadfully tired.’

They talked a little longer and then William said reluctantly. ‘I’m sorry, I must go else I’ll miss the bus back.’

He stood uncertainly in the centre of the cluttered room; the one room where Emma’s family lived, ate and slept. He was fishing in his pocket and pulled out two pound notes. ‘Here .
. .’

‘Oh no, William, please . . .’ she began, but he cut short her protestations saying, ‘It’s for the child – for Billy. And give this five shillings to Charles.
Mustn’t leave him out, you know,’ he added, grinning at her.

‘But so much . . .’ she began again.

‘Please let me. After all, you’ve called the baby after me, haven’t you?’

She nodded as the easy tears threatened again. ‘Oh, William,’ was all she could say.

He stood there looking at her for a long moment, before he turned and placed the money on the mantelpiece under a candlestick. ‘There, and don’t let Leonard—’ he began
and then stopped and altered whatever he had been going to say, ‘I mean, it’s for the boys.’

‘Thank you,’ she said quietly, but they both knew that once Leonard knew about the money, it would never find it’s way into the baby’s money box or even into young
Charles’s pocket.

‘I must go,’ he said again and stood at the side of the bed looking down at her for a long moment, then he bent, kissed her forehead swiftly and turned away. ‘Take care of
yourself, Em. And if you ever need me, you know where I am.’

Then he was gone, moving across the room, opening the door and going through it before she could speak again.

As she listened to the sound of his steps on the stairs becoming fainter and fainter, she whispered, ‘Goodbye William.’ Then she turned her face into her pillow and wept.

Three days later, when she felt a little stronger and got up from her bed and dressed for the first time, she found that the money had disappeared from beneath the candlestick.
Slowly, knowing what she would see, she turned her head towards the shelf in the corner. The space where the silver christening mug should have been standing was empty.

Each day Emma grew stronger and was able to do a little more housework, but by the time she had tucked Charles into bed at night, she was thankful to crawl into the big bed in
the corner and snatch an hour or two’s sleep before the baby awoke, crying to be fed. Each time it happened during the night, she would hear a scuffle from Charles as the child pulled the
covers over his head, trying to block out the sound of the squalling infant.

It was after midnight and Emma had just fed the baby and lay down again, listening to the peace in the big room, the snuffling breathing of the baby and the gentle deep breathing of the older
boy, when she heard the front door of the house bang and feet pounding up the three flights of stairs. The door was flung open, crashing back against the rickety wardrobe that stood behind it,
waking both children at once and startling Emma so that her heart began to pound and sweat bathed her body.

‘Come on, look lively. We’re moving.’

‘Leonard, for Heaven’s sake! Do you have to wake the children? I’ve only just got the baby . . . Leonard, what on earth are you doing?’

He was turning up the oil lamp and moving about the room, picking up clothes and heaping them together on the table. ‘I told you, we’re moving. Now. Come on.’

‘Now?’ she repeated stupidly. ‘In the middle of the night? Don’t be ridiculous.’

He came and stood over the bed, bending down towards her, suddenly a huge, menacing figure.

‘Do as I say, else I’ll leave you to fend for yourself.’

She gasped and her violet eyes widened. ‘What – what do you mean?’

He straightened. ‘Ever heard of a moonlight flit, Emma? Well, this is it. We’re getting out of here. Fast.’

She didn’t know what he was talking about. She didn’t know what a ‘moonlight flit’ was, but his sense of urgency communicated itself to her and she swung her feet out of
the bed, her mouth set in a determined line. Ever since she had set foot in this awful room, these dreadful lodgings, she had wanted to leave. Well, whatever the reason, they were leaving and she
wasn’t going to stand here and argue the toss with Leonard, she told herself. Not even if it was the middle of the night.

‘Where are we going?’ was all she asked as she pulled on her clothes and began to bundle clothes and bedding into a heap.

‘Other side of town,’ he said shortly. ‘I’ve a cart downstairs. It’ll hold all our stuff and you and the bairn. The boy’ll have to walk with me.’

Her busy hands were stilled for a moment as in the low light from the lamp she stared at him. ‘Cart? Where’s your van? Why can’t we use that?’

‘Because I had to sell it weeks ago,’ Leonard snapped, pulling out a trunk from under the bed and flinging back the lid. He pulled open the doors of the wardrobe, clutched all the
clothes hanging there between his arms, tore them from the hangers and threw them into the open trunk.

Charles was sitting up in his bed, his eyes wide and fearful. ‘Mam . . .’ he began, but his father caught hold of his shoulder roughly and dragged him from beneath the warm covers.
‘Come on, boy, get dressed and help. You’re big enough now.’

Emma saw her son tremble, but he hurried to obey his father.

Within an hour they were all dressed and in the dark street, loading their possessions on to the handcart. Emma climbed up on to the cart holding the baby who was howling now, his cries echoing
through the silent street, bouncing back from the row of houses, the windows all in darkness.

‘Shut that brat up, for God’s sake, else you’ll have everyone knowing what we’re about,’ Leonard snarled as he grasped the handles of the cart and began to push it
along the street. Emma opened the front of her coat and dress and pushed the baby’s head against her bosom and was rewarded by silence as the child found her nipple and began to suck
greedily. The wheels rattled on the wet street and Charles walked beside his father. After what seemed hours of discomfort for Emma and every bone in her body seemed bruised by the jolting of the
handcart, they turned into a long narrow street of terraced houses stretching as far as she could see through the darkness.

‘Now, let’s see,’ she heard Leonard mutter. ‘Number twenty-three, we want. Ah, here we are, twenty-one, so it must be the next one.’

Suddenly, his good humour seemed restored. ‘It’s a house, Emma. You’ll like it here,’ he said as he helped her down from the cart. Her legs were stiff and cold.
‘And all to ourselves too,’ he went on as he produced a key from his pocket and opened the door leading into the house directly from the street. ‘No sharing with anyone else. How
about that, then?’

Emma stepped into the front room with Charles clutching at her skirts. By the light of the street lamp outside, Emma could dimly make out the empty room, with a door leading further into the
house. As she moved forward, her foot kicked a bottle which rolled across the floorboards making a loud rattling noise in the darkness.

‘There’s a bit of litter about. Scruffy beggars who had it before,’ Leonard told her. ‘But we’ll soon get it cleaned up.’

I like the ‘we’ Emma thought wryly, but she said nothing. She moved carefully across the room and through the door opposite and saw that stairs went up on her right-hand side and
another door led into the kitchen at the back. The house was cold, but not, she felt, as damp as the lodgings they had just left so hurriedly.

‘There’s no furniture, Leonard,’ she said as her husband carried in the oil lamp from the cart, lit it and set it on the mantelpiece above the cold fireplace in the back
room.

He rubbed his hands together and said, ‘Don’t worry. I’ll soon pick up some bits and pieces from the market. We’ll have it spick and span in no time.’

Emma was not so sure, but she said nothing as she spread out their bedding on the floor of the kitchen and urged a weary Charles to lie down, fully clothed, promising him that in the morning
things would be better, even though in her heart she doubted the truth of her own words. The baby, replete from nuzzling and guzzling for the whole of the journey to this place, lay asleep in the
cradle.

When he had unloaded the cart, Leonard took off his jacket, shirt and trousers and lay down beside her in his underwear. ‘We’ll be all right here, Emma,’ he said, putting his
arms about her. ‘I had to get you out of that place. It was no good there for you or the youngsters.’

Long after Leonard lay snoring beside her, Emma stared into the darkness. What Leonard said had been true, she acknowledged, but she also knew that it was not the whole truth. They had already
been at the lodgings several months, so why the sudden urgency? Why had they stolen away in the night, so secretly, so quickly? Oh yes, she thought grimly, don’t take me for a fool, Leonard
Smith. There’s more to all this than you’re telling me.

By daylight the house was even worse than it had seemed in the darkness. The upstairs rooms were virtually uninhabitable; the floorboards were rotten and damp patches covered
the walls and ceilings. Spiders’ webs hung in festoons from the corners and even the staircase leading to the upstairs was dangerous. In the kitchen, the sink was stained brown, the stove had
the door hanging drunkenly off its hinges and everywhere was thick with dusty grease. Emma opened the back door and stepped out into the narrow yard. The wash-house and the lavatory were worse than
the house, if that were possible, and in the lane that ran between the backs of these houses and those of the next street, a communal tap was the only running water supply. Three bare-bottomed
children, no older than Charles, played in the dirt.

Emma fumed and went swiftly back into the house.

‘Well, it’s hardly what I would call an improvement on the last place. But at least we’re self-contained now and we’ve an extra room.’ She nodded towards the front
room. ‘That’ll do as the bedroom. In the meantime,’ she looked meaningfully at her husband, ‘you can keep looking for something better.’