Oliver Arnold peered out of the carriage window at the familiar landmarks. After a long hard day he was glad to be home. Lately the challenges of big business didn’t seem quite as exciting as they once had. But then, he reminded himself, he was no longer a young man. This year he would be fifty years of age, and he was lonely. Even after four years without her, he still deeply missed his late wife. All the same, he could not afford to wallow in self-pity for she had left him with three children and he must keep going for their sake. He thought of his son, Luke, and a frown creased his forehead; he had not done such a good job on raising that one, he thought. Teresa, his eldest daughter, had been a source of strength to him, yet still he couldn’t love her in the way he loved his youngest child. Ida was only eight when her mother died, but she was everything that lovely woman had been – warm and caring, a joy to be with, and as Oliver thought of her now, he couldn’t help but smile. She would be watching for him to come home, and he was waiting for the moment when she would run out to greet him.
The carriage came up the top of Buncer Lane, the big grey horses going at a trot through the huge wrought-iron gates that led to Arnold Lodge, a grand old house with timbered gables and tall bay windows. On this glorious July day, the entire front of the house was hung with clematis and honeysuckle that spilled out a profusion of blossom and filled the air with heady fragrance. The long winding driveway meandered past lawns of velvet green interspersed with crescent-shaped flower-beds where humming bees and many-coloured butterflies buzzed and fluttered in and out of the open blossoms. Great oaks and silver birch trees lined the way. Here was paradise, a haven of peace and quiet away from the noise and smog of a busy industrial town.
Less than two miles out of Blackburn, Arnold Lodge had been built by Lucas Arnold some thirty-nine years before. His son Oliver was a boy when he watched the house grow out of the naked earth, from the laying of the first brick to the hanging of the last lampshade. The house was his pride and joy, a sanctuary in an acre of valuable land which developers would have given their eye-teeth for. Yet there wasn’t one of them who would ever have dared approach the mighty Oliver Arnold.
In time, though, his son Luke might prove to be of a different mind altogether. Now twenty-two years of age, immature and selfish, Luke Arnold was motivated only by greed and an insatiable need for excitement and danger. He spurned responsibility in any shape or form, and had no regard for either his family home or his father’s discipline. Expelled from every school he had ever attended he strongly protested his innocence of the many crimes of which he was accused; crimes that had involved fraudulently making money out of his peers, blackmail and corruption of a kind that quickly earned him the reputation of being a bad lot. It was only because of his father’s wealth and influence that scandal had been avoided time and again. But even so, he was not grateful. Instead he resented his father’s intervention, and grew increasingly more sullen and defiant. Lately, though, he seemed to have mellowed, apparently wanting to make amends. Always hoping that his son would one day make a man he could be proud of, his father was ready to give him the benefit of the doubt. There were those who claimed that his mother’s death some years ago had sent him off the rails, but there were others who insisted that he was rotten through and through. And this was all the more surprising because his father, although hard and ambitious in business, was not a ruthless man nor ever knowingly unjust.
Since his wife’s death, Oliver Arnold had done his best for Luke and all he had received in return was heartache. Yet he loved his wayward son and against his better instincts was convinced that all would come right in the end. Indeed, after being given some authority over safety measures at the largest foundry, Luke seemed at last to be settling down and accepting his role as heir to the Arnold fortunes and all the responsibility that went with it.
At long last Oliver had hopes that his son would come to realise the prominent role he was expected to play as a leading figure in a vast and thriving business concern. However, being the astute fellow he was, he had limited his son’s responsibilities until such time as Luke proved himself to be worthy. In fact, having spent a year under his father’s strict tuition, and a further six months assigned to the manager at Arnold’s largest foundry, Luke had shown himself to be surprisingly capable. This was encouraging, as was his blossoming relationship with respectable Cicely Banks whose father owned the only remaining foundry in the area that was not under the Arnold flag. Oliver was pleased at his son’s progress, and soon he would pass over much more responsibility. These days he was feeling his age and felt his decisions were not as sharp as they once had been. It would be good to have a son’s broad shoulder to lean on.
But Oliver was fooling himself. Instead of teaching him to be a better man, the experience of being monitored by his father and then by his father’s ‘trusted’ manager, who was required to report on his every move, had succeeded only in making Luke Arnold dangerously bitter and more deceitful. Already he was secretly colluding in a very underhand and dangerous activity which was bound to end in shame and scandal.
The carriage drew to a halt at the entrance to the house. Oliver Arnold climbed out, his weariness showing in the stoop of his shoulders and the slowness of his steps as he went to speak to the driver. ‘I won’t be needing you any more this evening, Thomas.’ He looked up at the little man in the driver’s seat. ‘You’re free to get about your other duties.’
The driver’s homely face broke into a smile. Respectfully tipping the neb of his flat cap, he nodded gratefully, replying in a gruff voice, ‘Right you are, sir.’ As the other man walked away, he regarded him closely and muttered under his breath, ‘By! There ain’t even a smile for us tonight, is there, eh?’ In fact, he had never seen his master look so worn. These past years had been a terrible strain on him, but Thomas believed that if his master was looking for the son to share his heavy load, he was heading for another disappointment. The father was good, the son was bad, and nothing would ever change that.
Thomas continued to watch as the older man approached the door. There were only two years between himself and the master but there might well have been ten, because while Thomas himself was carefree and jolly, the other man was white-haired and bowed down by the weight of office. Nearing fifty years of age, Oliver Arnold could never be described as a handsome man. He was tall and as thin as a pike-staff, with wispy iron-grey hair and a matching moustache; his best features were his strong blue eyes and his straight white teeth. Like many tall men, he stooped slightly at the shoulders, and had a noticeable habit when angry of stretching his thin neck upwards, until the sinews in his throat stood out like tram-lines.
Many years ago Oliver Arnold had inherited a small fortune from his father; this consisted of a working foundry and a number of tenanted houses throughout Blackburn. Lucas Arnold had been an exemplary businessman, with a modest instinct for making money. He had also been a fair-minded, honest man who always had the welfare of his workers at heart. His son Oliver was made in the same mould; although neither man ever gave an opportunity to trouble-makers or those who would disrupt the orderly running of the business concerns. Like his father before him, Oliver Arnold chose his managers with the utmost care, trusting these same men to uphold Arnold traditions and values, one of their duties being to keep a sharp eye out for mischievous trouble-makers who were then dismissed without a second thought. Conversely, if a man showed promise, he was always rewarded with more responsibility.
Oliver Arnold never engaged in underhand deals or shady speculation. He was a shrewd, ambitious man with an instinct for making money. It wasn’t long before the legacy left him by his father had become an immense empire.
‘Arnold Holdings’ now amounted to three foundries, a cotton-mill and two warehouses. Always seeking to expand his fortune, Oliver was presently in negotiation with the owners of a small merchant fleet operating between Liverpool and America. The company was reputed to be in deep financial trouble and so had attracted his attention. No one doubted his ability to acquire a troubled company and turn it into a thriving concern. He hoped that soon he would be able to unload some of the responsibility onto his only son’s shoulders.
As he walked up the steps to the front entrance, Oliver Arnold had sensed the driver watching him. Puzzled, he glanced round, asking, ‘Is there something else, Thomas?’
‘No, no. There’s nothing, sir. I’m on me way,’ Thomas Miller was quick to assure him, at the same time slapping the reins against the horses’ rumps and causing the animals to start forward. The way round to the stables was narrow and winding, which meant that he must keep the horses at a steady gait. Thomas Miller loved his job and he had a deal of respect for the man of the house, but he saw things here that nobody else saw. His master was one man to the outside world and another here in his own domain. Thomas had seen the deep abiding love that drew him to his family; and he had seen the pain and disappointment when his only son returned a failure time and again. He recalled how weary his master was just now, and it made him think.
‘Aye, it makes yer count yer blessings,’ he murmured to himself. ‘I ain’t got no family, except my brother Ted and his brood. I ain’t rich nor handsome, and I don’t know much except horses, but I do know this… I wouldn’t want the master’s life for a gold clock. He may have a fine big house and an army of servants at his beck and call, and happen he’s the wealthiest man in Blackburn, but it don’t mean to say he’s a happy man, do it, eh?’
As the carriage approached the stable-block, he gently pulled on the reins. ‘Whoah, me beauties,’ he coaxed. In a moment the carriage was still and the horses impatient to be free of their harness. Climbing down from his lofty seat, the little man called out, ‘Johnny! Give old Thomas a hand, will yer?’ He continued muttering to himself as he began undoing the cumbersome harness. ‘Johnny!’ he called again, looking about impatiently, ‘Where are yer, lad?’
The ‘lad’ appeared then, a broad-shouldered young man with smiling dark eyes and a quick strong stride. Johnny Ackroyd was stripped to the waist and carrying a pitchfork. ‘The stables are cleaned out,’ he said, ‘and I’ve got the feed waiting.’ He hung the pitchfork from the timber beam above the straw-bales. ‘Miss Teresa’s just gone. She wanted to see the big greys before we settled them down for the night.’
He came to the horses and began lovingly stroking their noses. The big greys knew him and nuzzled into his work-worn hands. ‘It’s all right, Thomas,’ he said, ‘I’ll see to them. You look tired.’ He freed the horses from the shafts, then he set about loosening the brass buckles that secured the harness. ‘I’ll clean up these brasses while the horses are feeding,’ he said. ‘Oh, and there’s a fresh brew simmering on the stove for you.’
‘Bless yer heart, lad, what would I do without yer, eh?’ Thomas asked. He watched Johnny skilfully remove the harness before leading the greys into the stable. Following behind, he thought how capable the lad was and how he had taken to this work like he was born to it. He often wondered how he’d managed before Johnny was hired as his assistant. ‘You say Miss Teresa came to see the horses?’ he asked mischievously.
‘Aye. She’s only been gone a few minutes. I wish she wouldn’t hang about when I’m trying to work, though.’
‘Hang about, did she?’ Thomas chuckled. ‘That’s ’cause it ain’t the horses she came to see.’
‘What do you mean?’
Thomas was surprised that Johnny hadn’t already seen through Teresa’s dangerous little game. ‘The lass came to see you,’ he remarked. But then his voice changed and he warned, ‘Don’t be tempted though, lad. Women is trouble. And rich men’s daughters is the worst trouble of all.’
Johnny didn’t answer straightaway. He was thinking of Thomas’s niece. There was only one girl for him and that was Ruby Miller. ‘You’re imagining things,’ he replied somewhat sharply. ‘Miss Teresa came to see the horses, like she said.’
‘Aye, well, have it your own way. But I’m warning you, Johnny lad, be on your guard. Temptation comes in many shapes and forms.’ Having delivered his warning, he slapped the lad on his bare back and chuckled mischievously. ‘I forgot, though. It’s our Ruby as takes your fancy, ain’t it?’ He shook his head. ‘She’s a quality creature is that. Oh, but she’s proud! All the same, one o’ these days, she’ll make some fella a grand wife.’ When he saw the deep red flush that crept from Johnny’s muscular neck right up to the roots of his hair, he thought he had teased him enough. ‘Aye, well, just think on what I said about that one in the big house.’ He rubbed his hands together and chuckled again. ‘There’s a brew o’ tea, you say?’ he asked, going to the stove and licking his lips in anticipation.
He set about the serious business of pouring out the tea, and it wasn’t long before he was seated in the old torn armchair that he’d rescued from the gardener’s bonfire. With his hands wrapped round the enamel mug of steaming liquid, and thankful that the day’s work was almost over, he took a moment to contemplate. ‘I can’t stand this July heat,’ he complained, ‘it saps a body’s strength. It’s all right for you, lad,’ he muttered, ‘you’re finished for the weekend. But my work ain’t never finished.’ A sudden smile lit his face. ‘Still, I won’t complain, ’cause I’ve a great deal to be thankful for after all’s said and done.’
Appearing not to have heard the other man’s ramblings, Johnny placed the bucket of water where both horses could reach it. Stretching up, he told Thomas in a serious voice, ‘One of these days, I’ll have to punch that Luke Arnold on the nose.’
‘Hey! We’ll have none o’ that, young fella,’ Thomas rebuked him. ‘I’ve told you before… don’t let the bugger rile you.’ He supped his tea and sighed, all the while aware of Johnny’s anger. ‘What’s he done this time?’ he asked impatiently. Running through his mind was the incident when Luke ‘accidentally’ dropped one of the best saddles in the horses’ trough after Johnny had spent a full hour polishing it. Luckily Johnny was busy fetching the hunters in from the top field and didn’t see the damage until later or there might have been a punch-up then. As it was, Thomas had his work cut out to stop Johnny going after the master’s son. There was deep bitterness between those two, and it was a great source of worry to Thomas.
‘He’s a bad ’un,’ he said in a whisper. ‘And he’d like nothing more than for you to lunge at him, so he can have you chucked out of your job. Is that what you want, eh? How do you think your mam would feel if you went home and told her you’ve no wages coming in, ’cause you let yourself be drawn into a fight with that good for nothing?’ He shook his head. ‘What was it he done, anyroad?’
‘Nothing you could put your finger on. He just stood by the stable door, kicking at the ground and watching me. Whenever I turned round, he was there… watching and sniggering. Going out of his way to aggravate me.’ Johnny’s fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. ‘If he does it again, I swear I’ll black his eye and face the consequences. At least I’ll get the satisfaction out of knocking him flat on his back!’ The prospect made him smile.
‘You’ll do no such thing. Luke Arnold can be a bad enemy. You’ll ignore him, that’s what you’ll do, young fella-me-lad. If he comes round again, just get on with your work and pretend he ain’t there.’
‘He’s a bastard, and he deserves a thrashing! If it weren’t for what you said, about me going home without any wages for my mam, I’d knock all sorts out of him, I would.’ His eyes darkened with rage.
‘By!’ Thomas had never heard the lad use such strong language before. ‘He really has got under your skin, ain’t he? Well now, you can forget about giving him a thrashing, because that’s for his father to do. You and me, we do as we’re told, and we keep ourselves to ourselves. That way we don’t get in trouble, do we, eh?’ He waited for Johnny to answer, but it was plain to see that the lad was still in a black mood. ‘Did you hear what I said?’ he insisted sharply. ‘We don’t want no trouble, so we get on with our work and we mind our own business, ain’t that right?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘There ain’t no suppose about it.’ He pointed to the straw-bale beside him. ‘Sit down here, lad,’ he said kindly. When Johnny was seated beside him, he went on, ‘I ain’t saying as the bugger don’t deserve a thrashing, because he does. What I’m saying is, it won’t be you as gives it him, ’cause then he’ll have you right where he wants you. Don’t give him the satisfaction, lad. You know he ain’t worth it, don’t you, eh?’ He nodded with approval when Johnny grunted his agreement. He lit up his clay pipe and began sucking contentedly on it, and the two of them were quiet for a while, each thinking his own thoughts; the old one wondering whether he should have taken a wife to comfort him in his old age, and the young one dreaming of walking down the aisle with the lovely Ruby on his arm.
He thought about the way she had looked up at him when he took her in his arms the other day, how her eyes told him all he wanted to know. He remembered how she ran from him, and how she had always given him the impression that she didn’t really care for him in that way. But in his heart Johnny truly believed that Ruby loved him as much as he loved her. He had to hope that there would come a day when she would be his wife – and, oh what a proud man he would be then. Thomas was right though, Ruby was proud, and if anything dimmed Johnny’s hopes in that moment it was the knowledge that she was different from any other girl he’d known. Loving and delightful as she was, there was something frightening about the way she talked of ‘fine clothes and a big house, and an army of servants for our mam, so she can put her feet up when they ache’.
Anger rose in him then. God Almighty! Where did she get such grand ideas? For himself, he never hankered after things like that. All he ever wanted was Ruby. But if he could provide her with the things she craved, he’d work his fingers to the bone. Sometimes, in the early hours when he was taking the horses out to the top field and the air was heavy with dew, he would marvel at God’s wonderful world, and he’d think of Ruby, of how she ached for other things, things that didn’t really matter, and his heart would turn over with fear. He feared her ambitions would separate the two of them for ever.
Then he’d see Luke Arnold galloping across the fields, a man only a few years older than himself, a layabout who’d never done a proper day’s work in his entire life, rich and spoilt and with all the things that Ruby put such great value on. Johnny was consumed with bitterness then. Luke Arnold didn’t deserve such an easy life. If there was any justice in this world, a man would reap only what he sows. That way, all men would get their just rewards.
Thomas spoke again to issue a warning, ‘Stay well clear o’ that one next time the bugger tries to rile you, remember you’re worth ten of him!’ He shook his head and sighed, ‘It’ll be a sorry day when Luke Arnold is master of this house. Twenty year I’ve worked for Oliver Arnold, and I can’t remember a time when he’s ever caused me pain. I’ve seen his eldest son grow from an infant, and I’ve seen him become a father twice more. I watched him break his heart when his wife was taken, and I’ve been proud o’ the man he is. Oh, but I tell you, Johnny lad… the greatest sorrow he’s endured has a name, and that name is Luke – a bad ’un if ever there was one!’
‘Where did he get his bad ways?’ Like Thomas, Johnny had immense respect for the master, and often wondered whether Luke was more like his late mother. ‘You can see he didn’t get ’em from his father.’
‘No, and he didn’t get his bad ways from his mam neither,’ Thomas informed him. ‘Some folks are just bad, and there ain’t no telling why. But like I say, lad, it’ll be a sorry day for all on us when he’s the master of Arnold Lodge. But most especially for young Ida. Miss Teresa can take care of herself, ’cause she’s cut out of the same mould as her brother. But the young ’un’s a different kettle o’ fish altogether.’ He shook his head forlornly and his spirits plummeted until he told himself that none of it was his concern. He didn’t have no worries, and wasn’t about to take on anybody else’s. All the same, thoughts of the gentle Miss Ida being left at the mercy of Luke and Teresa made his blood run cold.
‘That’s enough of other folk!’ He rose from his seat and carefully put out his pipe. ‘Come on, lad. We’ve a deal o’ work to do afore you can make your way home. The sooner we’re done, the sooner I can retire to my own quarters.’
Thomas had lived over the stables these past twenty years, and now he was content to end his days here, with a hearth he could call his own and a good master to serve. His only fear was that he might outlive the master, because then he, like young Miss Ida, would be at the mercy of a hard and spiteful young man.
By six o’clock the horses were fed and stabled, the harness hung in the tack-room, polished and gleaming, the carriage cleaned inside and out, and everything ship-shape, as Thomas put it. At ten past six, he straightened his back from his labours and told Johnny, ‘Right, lad. There ain’t nothing else to do for the minute, so I’m away upstairs to my quarters. I reckon it won’t be too long before I go to my bed, ’cause more often than not, that young bugger Luke will have me out at midnight to run him here or there. If his father knew he was dragging me from my bed at all hours, I reckon he’d skin the hide off him.’
‘Why don’t you tell him, then?’
Thomas groaned. ‘Don’t think I haven’t been tempted. But no, it ain’t worth causing trouble for. You should remember that, lad. You don’t go making trouble for yourself with the gentry, unless you want to come off worse.’ He saw Johnny was about to protest, and so quickly instructed, ‘When you’ve had your swill, get off home. Mind you check the horses just before you leave. Oh, and don’t forget to secure the stable doors behind you.’ He patted Johnny on the back, adding an apology, ‘Sorry, lad. I know I can trust you to do what’s needed, eh?’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll see to it,’ Johnny promised, and the older man knew he was leaving everything in safe hands.
‘I’m tired, I’ll not deny it,’ he said as he made his way towards the far end of the stables to climb the narrow stairs there. ‘I ain’t so young as I was, and that’s a fact.’
‘You’ll be fine when you’ve washed and eaten. It’s been a long day, that’s all,’ Johnny assured him. ‘But if you want me to come over the weekend, you’ve only to ask.’
‘No need for that.’ Thomas would never admit that he couldn’t manage on his own for two days. ‘I’ll see you five o’clock Monday morning, and don’t be late.’ Johnny was never late, but Thomas felt the need to assert his authority just then. Without a backward glance he went on, up the stairs and into the haven of his tiny quarters.
‘You’re a proud old fella,’ Johnny whispered. ‘Proud and stubborn, just like your niece Ruby.’ Even the mention of her name warmed him all over, and he began whistling a merry tune. Taking the bucket to the pump, he filled it to the brim with water then carried it back to the stables; Thomas had warned him never to strip-wash in full view of the house. ‘The master don’t want you offending the young ladies.’
Inside the stables, Johnny poured half the water into a smaller bucket before making his last check of the evening. The hunters were bedded and content, and the big greys nuzzled him in turn as he went from one stable to the other, forking over the straw beds and checking the water level in the trough. ‘You’ll do, my beauties,’ he said softly, caressing each nose in turn. He loved these animals, and they sensed it. ‘I’ll be away soon ever I’ve had my wash, but Thomas’ll see to you first thing.’
Johnny was always reluctant to leave. For a long while he leaned against the rail watching the horses and taking pleasure in their every move. It was warm in the stables and the smells invaded the air like a physical presence; the sweet warm aroma of horses’ sweat, the pleasant dry smell of newly polished leather – familiar things that gave him a feeling of great contentment. The big old barn with its great oak beams and high wide roof, the tack-room hung with saddles, working-harness and riding gear; he knew every inch of it, his hands had touched every surface, and his fingers had ached from polishing the harness until it shone like a mirror. This place was like his second home and he understood why Thomas had bided here these many years, content to live out his life in the rooms above. There was something very special about this way of life. Not like the mills and the foundries where so many men earned their living. Huge monstrosities that belched black acrid smoke over the land, places that were more like jails, where a man could choke from the noise and chaos. Here there was peace, and beauty, and a wonderful sense of freedom.
Glancing out of the doors to the church steeple that towered above a nearby village, Johnny read the time on the clock face. It was already twenty minutes past six. If he didn’t get to the main road by quarter to seven, he’d miss his tram. ‘All the same, I can’t get aboard with the muck and sweat still on me,’ he muttered. After collecting a towel and soap from a small cupboard, he tied the towel securely around his waist and tucked it into the top of his trousers. Placing the larger bucket on a stool, he plunged his two arms in and gasped aloud. The water was ice-cold, sending a ripple of goose-pimples over his skin. Yet it was gloriously stimulating in the close heat of the evening. Now he dipped the soap into the water, vigorously working up a green frothy lather which he rubbed all over his bare chest, then his neck and arms and as far round his back as he could reach. That done, he scooped handfuls of water from the bucket and followed the same pattern, until the soap was washed away and his skin glistened beneath the incoming shaft of sunshine. Taking up the smaller bucket from the floor, he leaned forward, straddled his legs wide, and poured the entire contents over his head, at the same time running his free hand through his thick black hair and allowing the water to run over his shoulders and down his back.
Blinded by the water, Johnny couldn’t see the girl standing in the doorway, her avaricious brown eyes following his every move and with a look on her face that would have given old Thomas a heart attack.
Moving forward with soft footsteps, she was careful not to betray her presence there, and all the while she kept her gaze on that magnificent body, the strong shoulders broadened by work, the thick muscular chest, that rich dark hair and those distinct handsome features that had first drawn her to him. Johnny was nothing to her. She felt no compassion, no tenderness, no conscience as to the possible consequences of her desire to take him to herself. She thought only for the moment, and of her own needs. Soon she would be seventeen, and Teresa Arnold felt the stirrings of womanhood within her. She ached for a man, any man; but the forbidden fruit was always the best. Johnny was ‘forbidden fruit’, and she resented that.
She was almost on him when she changed direction, her silent fleeting footsteps taking her into the tack-room where she saw Johnny’s jacket flung over the back of the chair. For a long delicious moment she stroked her delicate white fingers over the rough cord material, her imagination running riot and her senses tingling. She knew he would come in here before he left for the weekend, and the thought spurred the wanting in her. When he came in, she would be waiting. Bending low, she put her face against the cloth. In her mind’s eye she saw the two of them writhing on the ground, their naked bodies merging. Trembling now, she straightened up, smiling knowingly as she began undoing the tiny pearl buttons on her blouse. At the same time she looked out of the door and glanced over to where he stood. He was combing his hair now, almost ready. His back was to her, a broad wet expanse, taut and tanned by his hours in the fields. For some long time she had planned this evening, the way she would greet him when he came in through the door, how his senses would be so overcome by her beauty that he would not be able to resist.
The last button slid open and she slithered the blouse over her arms. It fell to the ground. Her small white breasts were bared now, excitement flooding through her. Soon. Very soon. She could hear him now. Her trembling fingers undid the belt around her waist. In her mind’s eye she could see him naked, wanting her.
Upstairs, Thomas was puzzled. From his tiny window he had seen the girl hurrying towards the stables, but as yet, he hadn’t seen her come out again. ‘She means trouble,’ he muttered, frantically pulling on his boots. ‘Bloody women! — they can be wily as foxes when they’ve a mind.’ His thoughts flew to Johnny and he was afraid. At the door he paused, his instincts telling him to peer carefully out before he went barging down the stairs. Happen he were wrong and she weren’t making for the stables after all.
He winced when the door made a small squeak as he came out onto the wooden platform. In the same moment a movement caught his attention, causing him to glance down into the tack-room. She was there, hiding in the shadows. For one shocking minute he couldn’t believe what he’d seen; he didn’t want to believe it. What in God’s name was she thinking of? The master’s daughter, half-naked and waiting in the tack-room. Looking beyond, he saw that Johnny was making his way there. What to do? God above, what to do? He couldn’t rightly betray her, even though she deserved it, the little hussy! But then he couldn’t let Johnny walk in on her like that. By! Before this night was through, both he and the lad could be out on the streets looking for another job. The thought spurred him into action.
‘JOHNNY.’ His voice carried the length of the barn. ‘Hold on a minute, lad.’ He came down the stairs in a hurry, rushing towards the younger man and keeping him from entering the tack-room. ‘I meant to ask you if you’d take a look at the master’s hunter. I’ve an idea she might be going lame, but for the life of me, I can’t find a cause.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’ Johnny recalled fetching the horse in from the fields. ‘He seemed all right when I brought him in earlier.’
‘Aye, well. Happen you’d best take a look at him. We can’t be too careful.’
‘If you’re that worried, Thomas, all right, I’ll take a look.’ He didn’t want to miss his tram because he had ideas of calling on Ruby tonight. All the same, he wouldn’t leave a horse in distress. Like Thomas said, you couldn’t be too careful where animals were concerned. Without hesitation, he swung round and made haste to the hunter’s stable. As he went inside, he glanced round, visibly surprised to see Thomas going in the opposite direction. ‘Did you check all four hooves?’ he called out. ‘If he’s picked up a stone, I can’t think where it came from because that top field’s clean as a whistle.’
‘Just give him the once-over, lad. See what you think.’ Thomas paused outside the tack-room. ‘Soon as you’ve done, you’d best get straight off. You don’t want to miss that tram do you, eh? I’ll fetch your jacket… save you a few minutes.’
Deliberately keeping his eyes averted from the shadows where he knew she was lurking, and pretending not to notice the silken garment lying crumpled nearby, Thomas went straight to the chair, snatched up Johnny’s jacket and made haste out of there, closing the door behind him.
Well, there’s nothing in his feet and his limbs seem sound enough.’ Johnny came forward, a puzzled look on his face. ‘Are you sure he was limping?’
‘Aye, well, happen I were wrong,’ Thomas chuckled. Happen it’s me as is crippled.’ His relief at having defused a very dangerous situation showed in his ready smile. ‘If you go at a run, you’ll just make that tram.’ He gave the jacket to Johnny.
‘If you’re still concerned on the morrow, it might be best to call the veterinary.’
‘Naw. The natural way you have with the animals, lad, I reckon your opinion is as good as any “veterinary”.’
‘But you will call him if you’re worried on the morrow?’
‘Aye. Now get off home.’ He walked Johnny to the door, remaining there until the tall familiar figure was out of sight. Only then did he climb the stairs to his own quarters. As he went inside and closed the door, he was aware of furtive movements down in the tack-room. ‘You’ve been outfoxed, you bugger,’ he chuckled softly. But he knew he must be ever vigilant, because she wouldn’t give up. Folks like her set their sights on a particular possession, and neither hell nor high water would stop them from owning it. The smile slid from his face. If it came to it, he might be better to let Johnny go. He was young and strong, he had a good head on his shoulders, and he was unusually quick to learn. He went to the window and stared out. A great anger welled up in him when he saw the girl going at a run towards the house.
‘Why did you have to set your sights on this particular lad?’ he asked bitterly. ‘There must be any number of young men who would give their right arm to break in a bad filly like you.’ Sighing, he turned away. ‘I hope you’ll not be the cause of me losing him. Johnny Ackroyd is the best I’m ever likely to find. He’s a good lad, hard-working and with a natural knowledge of horses that comes straight from the bone. You can’t teach that kind of instinct.’ He was angry now, ‘He’s my right arm, you bugger. It would be a sin and a shame if I have to let him go because of a flighty wicked thing that don’t know right from wrong.’
Luke was preening himself in front of the hallway mirror, pressing the palms of his hands over his temples in a bid to flatten his wayward fair hair, and at the same time discreetly admiring the handsome, thick-set man who stared back at him. He certainly looked splendid in his brown cords and burgundy jacket. After dinner, he had a very important date to keep; although his father would never approve of the long-legged brunette who blatantly chased him for his money and not his looks.
He saw Teresa in the mirror, so was not unduly surprised when she came rushing in through the door. However, on closer inspection he saw that she was in a foul mood, her face aflame and her mouth set in a thin grim line. ‘Where’s Father?’ she asked rudely, her brown eyes glittering with anger. Deeply frustrated by what had just taken place, she felt cheated and bitter, bent on inventing some dreadful story about the stablehand making approaches to her. At this moment in time, she didn’t care if she never saw him again. She wanted him dismissed, shamed, sent from Arnold Lodge with a slur against his name that would prevent his ever again gaining employment in a house of gentry. It didn’t matter that it was Thomas who had ruined her devious little plan. All that mattered was that it had been ruined. She felt humiliated and scorned. There was a deal of loathing in her, and this was unjustly directed at the young man she had meant to seduce.
‘My, my!’ Her brother turned slowly round to regard her with some curiosity, softly laughing when his dark blue eyes alighted on the wisps of straw caught in the hem of her skirt, ‘What have you been up to?’ he asked cunningly, noting how her shoulder-length light brown hair was unusually dishevelled and the upper buttons of her blouse done up in the wrong order, ‘You certainly like playing with fire, don’t you?’
‘What do you mean?’ At once she was on her guard.
‘You know very well what I mean,’ he whispered, glancing furtively towards the drawing-room from which emanated the sounds of Oliver Arnold and his youngest daughter laughing, delighting in each other’s company. ‘If I were you, sister dear, I’d tidy myself up before Father sets eyes on you.’ He grinned. ‘You little bitch,’ he teased. ‘Was he to your liking… our brawny stable-lad?’
Incensed by his taunting, she lunged forward and kissed him full on the mouth. ‘Don’t be jealous now!’ she retorted. Then, before he could recover his composure, she laughed in his face, turned quickly and went in great haste up the wide stairway to her room. She was still smiling when she closed the door. Somehow her fury had subsided. No, she didn’t want the young man dismissed. But she did want him. Oh, yes. And next time she would plan it all much more carefully.
It was ten minutes past seven when Johnny stepped off the tram at Blackburn Boulevard. The sun was still high in the heavens and the evening air was clammy. He felt tired and hungry, but as always was glad to be making his way home to the bosom of his family. Even in his work-clothes and with his hair tousled from crawling about beneath the horses’ bellies, he was handsome enough to turn a few heads. Two young factory-girls giggled as he strode past them, his broad shoulders set square and his eyes fixed on the road ahead. He was amused but not affected by their girlish antics. They were pretty enough, and no doubt they would make good companions, but they were not Ruby. It was she who filled his mind at the moment. She who had filled his mind all day. Ruby held his heart and his future in the palm of her tiny hand.
From the corner of his eye he saw a familiar figure approaching. He recognised the terrier-like features and the way the man’s flat cap was perched on his greying hair at a jaunty angle. He saw how the man swayed from side to side and his heart sank. The man was his father, and even before the pubs were properly open, he was already drunk.
Reluctantly, Johnny stopped and waited. ‘Aw, Dad, have you no decency?’ he asked, neither ashamed nor proud of this once charming man now hopelessly afflicted with a craving for drink. ‘Just look at yourself! You can’t put one foot before the other.’ He stretched out his arm. ‘Come home with me, eh? Mam’ll be wondering where you are.’ It was a strange thing, but he loved and hated his dad all at the same time.
‘Away with you. Your mam knows where her ol’ fella is, and she knows he’ll come home when he’s ready.’ He chuckled and said with a cheeky wink, ‘I saw them two lassies, giggling an’ giving you the eye. You’re a chip off the ol’ block, sure you are, Johnny Ackroyd.’ He stretched his little figure to its full height. ‘There was a time when I could turn a few heads. Oh, aye! You ask your mam, she’ll tell you… had to fight the little buggers off, she did.’ He cocked his head and thrust his two hands into his pockets, almost falling over when he unbalanced himself. ‘Gerrof!’ he yelled when Johnny thrust out an arm to grasp him. ‘I ain’t drunk.’ He was indignant though. ‘I ain’t coming home for a while yet, tell your mam. There’s this bloke, y’see, and he’s got a bloody good idea for making money. I’ve a chance to get in on it. Your mam’ll understand.’ He glanced at Johnny’s pocket. ‘Got your wages, have you, lad?’
‘Yes, Dad, I’ve got my wages, but you’d better not say what’s on your mind because these wages are going home with me. I’m not interested in your get-rich-quick ideas, and I’m certainly not going to give you my hard-earned wages, just so you can squander them on some fella who spins you a likely tale.’ When the other man cast his forlorn gaze down, Johnny was struck with remorse. ‘Aw, come home with me, Dad. You know our mam’ll be worried about you.’ His father’s weaknesses for gambling and booze were widely known, and there were plenty of crooks who would take advantage of a soft-hearted individual like Leum Ackroyd.
‘I’ve told you, I can’t come home, not yet. I’ve a fella to see. Do as you’re told and tell her I’ll be home shortly.’ He gave a loud hiccup and grinned broadly. ‘Did you hear that, eh? I swear I’ll never touch a hot chestnut as long as I live. Tuppence a bag from the barrow on King Street. By! They turn my stomach upside down an’ that’s a fact.’
‘It couldn’t be the drink then?’ Johnny had to smile.
‘The drink? Never!’ He saw the glint of humour in Johnny’s face and was not a man to lose an opportunity. ‘I need a shilling or two, son. As God’s my judge, I’ll pay it back.’
‘You know I can’t give you Mam’s money.’
‘Oh, I know that. But your mam don’t take all your wages.’
‘I keep enough back to see me through the week, that’s all.’
‘Aye. And a bit to save.’ He leaned closer and Johnny could smell the booze on his breath. ‘Saving, ain’t you? Saving for the day when you’re ready to ask that bonny Ruby Miller to be your wife.’ He saw the surprise on his son’s face and was encouraged to add boldly, ‘You didn’t think your ol’ dad knew that, did you, eh?’ He rolled his eyes upwards and sighed. ‘By! I remember when your mam was a slight young thing. She were bonny too.’ He made a choking noise in the back of his throat and his eyes welled up with tears. ‘I’ve not been much of a husband to her, have I, eh? I wouldn’t blame her if she were to pack her things and leave me for good.’
‘Come home, Dad.’
‘No. Not yet. I’m sorry for what I am, son, but I can’t be no different than the Good Lord made me. I shouldn’t be asking for your wages, and I’m ashamed. You keep them. Take them home to your mam. Tell her I’ll be along, I’ve some business to see to first.’ He turned away, his shoulders bowed as though the weight of the world was pressing him down.
To the young man watching, it was a heart-rending sight. This was his father, and like he said, he was only what the Lord had made him. ‘Wait on, Dad.’ Johnny went after him. Digging his hand into his trouser pocket, he brought out two silver shillings. ‘I’ll expect it back when you’re able. Don’t waste them on booze, will you, eh?’ he said, pressing them into his father’s outstretched palm.
Leum was never a man for making promises he couldn’t keep, so he didn’t answer. Instead he muttered, ‘You’re a good lad.’ Then he patted Johnny’s shoulder, winked in that endearing way he had, and soon was going down the road, whistling to his heart’s content and leaving Johnny to reflect on his impetuous action. He thought it best not to tell his mam that he’d given away his own share of the week’s wages; though he would tell her that he’d seen his dad and that he would ‘be home shortly’. All the same, if past experience was anything to go by, it would be gone midnight before Leum Ackroyd came rolling down the street, his voice uplifted in song and his pockets empty.
‘Got any sweeties for us, Johnny?’ The little boy ran towards his hero, and all the other children close on his heels; snotty-nosed, raggy-arsed kids who had been playing in the street, rolling their hoops along the cobbles and chasing the dogs in circles. When the smallest one saw Johnny, though, the play was abandoned. They all loved Johnny Ackroyd. He always brought them sweets of a Friday night.
‘I’m sorry, fella,’ Johnny apologised, ‘I didn’t have time to stop at the shop.’ In fact, he’d been so dismayed at seeing his father in such a state, he’d forgotten all about the children’s sweets.
‘Ain’t you got none in your pockets?’ The little lad cuffed a running dewdrop from his nose onto the back of his shirt-sleeve. ‘Have a look, go on,’ he pleaded. And just to please him, Johnny dug into his trouser pockets. It was hard to tell who was more surprised, him or the little fella, when he produced a handful of liquorice lumps. ‘Thanks, Johnny!’ the lad cried, grabbing the sweets and running full pelt up the street with the others on his tail. ‘Come back!’ they yelled. ‘You’d better share ’em or else!’ Johnny chuckled. He was glad he’d found the sweets. The children expected it.
As always, Johnny looked for Ruby when he strode down Fisher Street. Sometimes she would be home and sitting on the doorstep, and he would sit down beside her and they would chat and laugh and enjoy each other’s company. Not tonight though. There was no sign of her. He might have called down the passage if the front door had been open, but it was not and so he passed by. Later, when he was washed and changed, he meant to call on her. It suddenly occurred to him that she might be up in the bedroom with his sister Maureen, and with this thought in mind he quickened his footsteps towards his own front door.
‘Do you think he’ll find work, our mam?’ Ruby was bouncing Lottie on her lap, while Lizzie put the finishing touches to the dinner table. ‘I asked Miss Cicely if there was any work in her dad’s foundry, and she said there might be, ’cause it seems they’re working full stretch.’
‘Oh, Ruby!’ Lizzie swung round to stare disapprovingly at her daughter. ‘What have I told you about discussing our business with your employers?’
‘It’s only Cicely, and she’s all right.’
‘Cicely Banks might be “all right’’, lass, but you’re paid to do a day’s work at her father’s house, not to stand about idly gossiping. By! Will you never learn that we’re different from these folks? They’re moneyed folk. Gentry, that’s what they are. Jeffrey Banks and his daughter ain’t no different than the Arnolds even if they do seem nicer folk. They live in a big house where they’re waited on by servants such as yourself, they feed off fine china and their tables are laid with the very best that money can buy, they own dandy clothes and grand carriages that ordinary folk have no need of, and they talk a different language.’ She heaved a deep sigh. ‘Will you do as yer mammy tells yer and keep your distance. Do your work and keep yourself to yourself, lass. Else, God help us, it’ll be you looking for work next!’
Ruby wrapped her two arms round the infant on her lap, kissing and cuddling her, ‘Oh, our mam!’ she replied fondly. ‘Mr Banks would never get rid of me, not while I’m working hard and doing a good job. Besides Cook, there’s only me and a live-in maid, and we do the whole house between us. When I’ve finished my housework, I run about for Cook, and she always says she’s never had such a good worker. She’s even told Mr Banks what a “treasure” I am.’ In truth, Ruby enjoyed her work at the Banks household. She delighted in all the fine things about her – the expensive walnut furniture and the handsome drapes that swept the great casement windows, and, oh, that beautiful grand piano that she often secretly tinkered with when no one could hear. ‘Anyway, it isn’t me who talks to Cicely. It’s her that talks to me.’
‘Well, she shouldn’t!’ Lizzie could see the makings of trouble here. ‘And you’ve no right calling her “Cicely”.’
‘Why not? That’s her name.’
‘She’s Miss Cicely to you, and her father isn’t “Mr Banks” neither.’
‘Who is he then?’
‘He’s the master, that’s who he is, my girl. These folks have titles and they liked to be addressed correctly. Start showing disrespect and they’ll have you out the door faster than your feet can touch the ground.’
‘Oh, don’t worry, our mam.’ Ruby put the child in its makeshift cot and came to where Lizzie stood. Putting her arms round her broad squashy waist, she cuddled herself into her mam’s ample bosom. ‘I always address them correctly when I’m there, and I always treat them with respect. They’re nice people though, Mam. Cicely is awful lonely, and I think her dad likes it because she’s found a friend in me.’ She was startled when Lizzie swung round and caught her fiercely by the arms.
‘Don’t you ever look on these folk as friends, Ruby Miller!’ Lizzie’s pretty hazel eyes opened wide in horror. ‘These are the folks who pay you to wait on ’em, and that’s all you are… a servant to fetch and carry and pander to their needs, nothing more than that. Don’t you ever forget it, my girl!’
‘But I’m the only friend Cicely’s got.’
Lizzie shook her then, and Ruby was visibly shocked. ‘NO! I’ll not have it. And when your dad gets work, happen it might be best if you left the Bankses and found something more suitable.’ She pushed Ruby away. It was the first time Ruby had ever seen her mam in such a state.
‘You know I can’t do that, Mam. Mr Banks is the best employer I could find, and he pays me good money that we couldn’t do without.’ Her dark eyes were confused as she looked up at her mam, but there was a certain defiance in her voice. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve angered you,’ she said. ‘I promise I’ll try to be more careful.’
Lizzie was angry with herself too. She shouldn’t have gone on at the lass like that. In spite of having ideas above her station, Ruby was a good girl. But there were things that Ruby didn’t know. Things that she would never know if Lizzie had her way. ‘Aw, I’m sorry I lost me temper, luv,’ she said, cuddling the girl to her. ‘But you mustn’t get too familiar with folk who employ you. It never pays. Don’t forget, when I was a young lass I did the very same kind o’ work that you’re doing now, and I’ve seen a lot o’ heartache come from humble folk mixing too close with the gentry. It’s wrong, child. Believe your mammy when she tells you, it’s allus best to keep a distance between yer.’ She held Ruby at arm’s length. ‘Promise me you’ll think on what I’ve said?’
‘I promise.’ Ruby was glad she hadn’t been asked to promise that she would never talk to Cicely as a friend again, because that poor girl had nobody else to confide in. Cicely Banks had told her things that she’d never told anybody else; she was never one for making friends and really looked forward to seeing Ruby. Like all young girls, she couldn’t talk to her dad about certain things, and so confided in Ruby who always appeared much more mature than her fourteen years. She told Ruby how her mam had walked out soon after she was born and was later killed in a train accident somewhere in London. Being a shy and delicate creature, Cicely hardly ever left the house, and Ruby was like a ray of sunshine to her. The idea that she should ‘keep her distance’ from this lonely soul was unthinkable to Ruby. And yet, she didn’t want to cause her mam any distress. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said now, ‘I will think on what you’ve said, and I’ll try harder to remember my place in future.’
Ruby was never sure what her ‘place’ was, though. Sometimes, she frightened herself by the very scale of her ambitions.
‘That’s all I’m asking of yer, lass.’ Lizzie was in better spirits already, and anyway Ruby was right. This family could never do without the wages Jeffrey Banks paid her. ‘You keep your eye on Lottie while I fetch the brood in from the street,’ she said kindly. ‘And let’s hear no more about it, eh?’ Her answer was a bright and lovely smile that lifted her heart as she went from the room and on up the passage to the front door.
Ted opened it just as Lizzie reached it. He shook his head. ‘No luck, sweetheart,’ he groaned. ‘I’ve fair worn me feet out, but there ain’t no work to be had this side o’ Liverpool.’
Lizzie recalled what Ruby had told her. ‘Did you try Jeffrey Banks’s foundry?’
‘I had it in mind, but then some fella on the docks told me as how Oliver Arnold was after buying Jeffrey Banks out. If there really is a tug-o’-war going on, Banks won’t be looking to take on more labour. Still, happen I’ll go and see for myself on Monday, eh? Sometimes you listen to gossip, and get the wrong end of the stick.’ He leaned forward and planted a kiss on her mouth. ‘I’m home now, and I’m tired. I’ll start again first thing Monday morning. You’re not to worry, d’yer hear? Trust your old man and he’ll see you right, you know that.’ He deliberately brightened his face and rubbed his hands together. ‘I can smell hot-pot. By! I’m a hungry man an’ no mistake.’
‘You’ve done your best, luv. You can’t do more than that,’ Lizzie said in a voice that belied her fears, ‘The meal’s ready. We were just waiting on you, but you’ve time to have your wash, ’cause I’m just about to fetch the young ’uns in.’
Her sorry eyes watched him go down the passage. She saw his stooped shoulders and the weariness in his footsteps, and her heart ached for him.
At nine o’clock, Lizzie sat in the rocking chair, her mind fleeting from one thought to the next. Another week gone and still Ted was out of work. Lizzie wondered whether she would ever have peace of mind. The childer were fast and hard asleep in their beds; all but Ruby, who was sitting outside on the front doorstep with Johnny Ackroyd. Ted was snoozing in the chair opposite, and only the ticking of the clock disturbed her troubled thoughts. Through the parlour window she could see the sun going down. It would be a while yet before the sky was darkened and the night set in. She felt uneasy, strangely unsettled. Uppermost on her mind was Ruby, and then the question of how they would manage if Ted didn’t soon get work. Suddenly she felt the need to get out of the house.
‘Where are you off to, Mam?’ Ruby was surprised to see Lizzie come out wearing her best Sunday shawl and her navy straw hat pulled over her hair.
‘I’m off to stretch my legs.’
‘Do you want me to come with you?’
‘No, lass. I’ll not be gone long,’ came the reply, and with that Lizzie went at a smart pace down the street.
‘I’m glad she didn’t want you to go with her.’ Johnny loved to be close to Ruby, and the thought that she’d been willing to leave him there cut through him like a knife. ‘There’s things I want to talk about,’ he explained.
Ruby looked at him with inquisitive dark eyes and his heart turned over. ‘What things?’ she asked.
‘Oh, just “things”,’ he said lamely. How could he tell her that he intended to wed her one day, and that he wanted her promise right now? She was so unpredictable. If he said the wrong thing she would be up and off. He didn’t want that. No. Happen it would be best if he just sat here and enjoyed her company for a while. ‘You look real pretty tonight,’ he said softly, hesitantly touching her hair and cursing himself when she inched away from him. ‘Our Maureen’s been asking after you,’ he added swiftly, changing the subject.
‘Will it be all right if I come and sit with her awhile tomorrow?’ Ruby’s eyes lit up at the thought. But her heart had leaped at the touch of his fingers. Johnny was so handsome, so gentle with her, and when he touched her like that, she could almost forget the other things she wanted out of life – and it was this which frightened her. Being poor was bad. She must never forget that.
St Peter’s church was where Lizzie’s mam and dad were buried. Whenever there was something deeply troubling her, she always came here. Now, a forlorn figure kneeling at the altar, she let the quietness and solitude wash over her and then asked in a whisper, ‘Please help him to find work, Lord, for all our sakes. And I think you know what’s on my mind where our Ruby’s concerned. It were a cruel stroke o’ fate as took her to Jeffrey Banks’s house. Oh, dear God… if she were ever to find out that he were her father, there’d be no rest for any of us! Oh, I know it’s hardly likely, ’cause there’s only you and me knows the truth, ain’t there Lord? Neither Ted nor Jeffrey Banks has any inkling of it but our Ruby’s a restless, wanting little soul, and I’m afeared she’s got the taste for finery in her blood.’
The tears spilled down Lizzie’s face at the thought of how she herself was once a maid at the Banks household and how, in one unforgiveable weak moment, she and the man of the house were drawn to each other. ‘Forgive me, Lord,’ she asked. ‘It ain’t her fault. She’s the dearest little soul on this ’ere earth, and I’m asking you please to keep the lass safe from harm.’
As Lizzie walked home, she felt lighter of spirit. In all these years she had never confided the truth in anyone, and she never would. But then, the Good Lord had always known, and she felt in her heart that he had forgiven her long since.