IT WASN’T UNTIL the following Monday that Sally managed to get Grace to herself. She’d tried to find a moment to have a private word with her but there was never the right time. Due to inclement weather, Ed and Stan had hardly moved from home. When on occasion they did, Grace was either catching up on much-needed sleep or attending to Peggy.
The strained atmosphere between father and son hadn’t intensified over the week but neither had it abated. There had been a particularly uncomfortable incident when, despite the temperature, only wind and rainfall accompanied it; Ed’s prediction that it wouldn’t snow proved correct.
He’d seemed to revel in mocking Stan, and she’d ached for her cousin as Ed’s scathing remarks rang all morning. Stan’s silence paid off; eventually, Ed had stopped, much to her relief. The misery in her cousin’s eyes was painful to witness and she’d been on the brink of telling her uncle to leave him alone.
Throughout, Grace sighed several times but, to Sally’s bewilderment, said nothing. When Ed left the room, the look Stan threw – first at the door then at his mother – scared her. It held what she could only describe as utter contempt.
Now, sitting with Grace at the table and Shield, as usual, sprawled by her feet, she knew this was her chance. The men had left for work and Peggy was sleeping. Monday was washday and Grace would soon be too busy; she’d asked if Sally would help with washing Peggy’s sheets a moment ago.
Having just fed the baby, she rubbed his back and breathed deeply. She’d rehearsed what to ask yet now the time had come, didn’t know where to begin. To her surprise, Grace did it for her.
‘So, how you liking it back in Manchester, love?’
‘It’s still rather strange but I’m very happy. Since being a child, I always prayed I’d see you again one day.’
‘Ah, lass.’
She smiled when Grace leaned across and patted her knee, then continued hesitantly, ‘Aunt Grace, may I ask you something?’
Nodding, her aunt reached for the teapot. Refilling their cups, she glanced up. ‘Go on, lass. What’s on your mind?’
‘I wondered whether, well, whether I’m in the way. I don’t want you to feel you must have me here because I’m your niece.’ When Grace made to protest, she added, ‘Perhaps you all have enough worries without the burden of a runaway wife and newborn adding to them.’
‘You’ve noticed, then?’ She sighed when Sally lowered her gaze. ‘Aye, course you have. You’d have to be blind not.’
‘Aunt Grace, I—’
‘Don’t be embarrassed, lass, it’s not your fault. Ed and Stan …’ Raising dull eyes to the damp-patched ceiling, she shook her head. ‘Eeh, where do I start?’
‘What’s wrong, Aunt Grace? Why are they so … cold towards one another?’
‘Our Stan, poor lad. He don’t bother no more, not like when he were younger, and who could blame him? All his life he’s strived for Ed’s love. I think he accepted … well, that it weren’t to be. But it’s not Ed’s fault, it’s not, lass. It’s hard for him, an’ all. He tried in t’ beginning but …’
She fell silent and foreboding filled Sally. Something unpleasant was coming, she could feel it. Moments later, Grace proved her right.
‘You see, I’m the cause, what I did … And Ed, he loved me so vowed to try and forget. Course, he couldn’t. It were a constant reminder when I began to show.’
Sally reached for her hand. ‘Are you saying Uncle Ed isn’t Stan’s father? Is that what you’re trying to say?’
‘I … I were expecting afore we married.’ Her words were barely audible and Sally had to lean in. ‘He’s a good man, your uncle, a good man. I don’t deserve him. My actions ruined him – ruined our marriage afore it began.
‘You could’ve knocked me down with a feather last week when he invited me to join him in that pie supper. The way he spoke … it’s the nicest I’ve heard forra long, long time. Whether it were because you were there, or because he felt sorry for me after hearing of Rose, I don’t know. Either way, it were lovely.’
Sally laid the baby in the basket and knelt beside Grace. ‘Oh, please don’t cry.’ As she wrapped her arms around her aunt, her mind spun.
Whatever she’d expected, this certainly wasn’t it; although it made everything clear. What on earth she was to do, she didn’t know. She’d sworn to herself that whatever the problem, she’d do her best to help. How in the world could she, with something as deeply rooted as this?
‘I’m sorry, love, I shouldn’t have told thee. What must you think of me?’
‘Please, don’t think that. You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I’d never judge you, never. You’re my aunt and I love you. I love all of you.’
‘He don’t know, lass. Our Stan don’t know. He’s asked me time and again why Ed’s the way he is with him, but I can’t tell him. He can’t know the truth, he can’t. Please, don’t say owt to him. He’d hate me.’
‘I’d never say anything if you didn’t want me to. It’s not my place.’ She frowned as a thought occurred. ‘Did this cause your rift with my mother? Was she … ashamed of you?’
Grace answered with a moan, and Sally sighed. She knew the cause must have been serious.
She’d longed to know the truth, yet now felt nothing but heavy sadness. All those wasted years! All she and her mother suffered in that awful place because of one woman’s mistake and another’s inability to forgive.
Her aunt, too, had suffered, that was clear. She also understood her uncle’s pain. Then there was poor, sweet Stan. Through no fault of his, what had he gone through all his life? What an utter waste. It was all so sad.
‘I’m sorry, for both you and my mother, that you were unable to be reconciled. She must have felt very strongly about your actions. However, I don’t. Your past doesn’t change my feelings for you. You’re the nearest thing I have to a mother, now, and I promise, if there is anything I can do to help, I will.’
Grace’s shoulders heaved with sobs. ‘Oh, lass, you don’t understand. What I did … It were wicked, wicked!’
‘I do. I understand you made a mistake. No one is perfect; we all do things we later regret. Don’t torture yourself any longer. It’s the future that matters. I don’t want to lose you a second time. We have the rest of our lives to get to know each other again, to be there for one another. Please, wipe your tears. I hate seeing you upset.’
For an age, Grace stared back through pain-filled eyes, then nodded. ‘I don’t deserve your kindness, nor deserve you for a niece. By, I don’t that.’ She caressed her cheek. ‘Eeh, I do love you, lass.’
Sally kissed her brow. ‘And I you. Now, let’s have that tea.’ After passing Grace her cup, she took a sip from her own. ‘Aye, we’ll have a sup then get on with that washing,’ she informed her in perfect imitation of her strong Lancashire accent. ‘Them sheets won’t wash their rotten selfs.’
Her aunt spluttered on her tea, chuckling, and Sally smiled, relieved that the tension had passed. She’d do her best to help heal her lovely family. How, she had no idea, but she had plenty of time to try. She wasn’t going anywhere. These were her only relations in the world. She wanted a different childhood for her son, filled with people who loved him. She’d sooner die than have him suffer a second of what she had as a child.
Her mother’s smile swam across her mind. Why, Mam? she pondered. Was it impossible to forgive the sister you adored one mistake? Was the shame of an illegitimate child really too much to bear? She pushed the upsetting thoughts away. As she’d told Grace, there was no point dwelling on the past. The future mattered and she was determined to make it a happy one.
Peering at the band on her finger, she was thankful Ivy had persuaded her to keep it. The money from the eaves wouldn’t last for ever. She’d given a fair chunk towards Shaun’s carpentry and had enough to pay her keep for several weeks, but what then? She couldn’t live here on charity; her family were barely scraping by as it was.
To remain and help them, as she desperately wanted, there was but one solution. She’d have to find employment.
Several hours later, the washing was billowing in the wind in the tiny backyard. Having brewed fresh tea, Grace placed a plate of bread on the table. A pot of jam, which Sally treated her to yesterday, stood alongside. Backs and arms aching, they sat gratefully.
‘Aunt Grace, where could I secure a position? My money won’t last for ever.’
Grace popped bread in her mouth and licked raspberry stickiness from her fingers. Since the revelation, her whole demeanour had changed. Her eyes were less haunted, face smoother, as though the worry lines had melted. It seemed the sheets were not all Sally had helped wash; she’d cleansed Grace’s tortured mind of bad memories, too.
‘Depends, lass. What were you thinking of?’
Sally thought for a moment. Along with the workhouse girls, she’d learned female duties such as sewing but not much else. She’d have to take whatever was available.
‘I’ll do anything, scrub floors if I must. I’m not proud.’
‘I dare say you’ll find summat if you’re that willing. Course, there’s the mills. I’ll bet they’re allus looking for spinners and such. Jonathan will be all right. I’ll gladly watch him if you get taken on.’ She smiled at him. ‘He’s good as gold and I’m in all day with our Peggy, anyroad. All you’d need do is call in your dinner break and give him his feed.’
Sally brightened. ‘Yes, that would work. Are you certain you wouldn’t be taking too much on, what with caring for Peggy?’
‘Nay, love, it’ll give me summat to do. The lass sleeps a lot. I’m only rattling round fretting about her all day. The babby would take my mind off it.’
‘Well, if you’re sure, I’ll look around. I must admit, I’m nervous. I’ve never had a job. What if I find I’m not good at anything?’
‘What, a clever lass like thee? Whatever you find, you’ll take to it like a fish to water. Now, finish your tea and go look. Flash one of them bonny smiles of yourn, be polite, and they’ll snap you up. You’d best leave the dog here, mind. He might put folk off.’
Filled with hope at Grace’s encouragement, she donned her shawl and set off.
The streets were quiet; those lucky to be in employment were toiling in the many factories. Mainly, she encountered beshawled housewives buying in the evening meal, and sullen-faced men on street corners, another morning’s search for work having proved futile.
Other men squatted on pavements tossing coppers, their angry curses when their gambling didn’t go in their favour ringing through the frosty November air. Occasionally, a policeman appeared up ahead and the groups would scoop coins into flat caps and quickly disperse, only to reform in the next street.
Her small smile never wavered as she passed along. Since arriving, her fears had diminished considerably. No one knew of her whereabouts besides Ivy, and she knew hell would freeze before her friend revealed them. Feeling worry-free, sure that Joseph wouldn’t suddenly appear as she’d often feared since escaping, was wonderful.
An enormous, seven-storey cotton mill came into view as she turned into Bradford Road. Glancing skyward at the columns of smoke streaming from its tall chimneys, she shuddered. Confinement within those sweltering death traps filled her with dread, but she needed money. Thousands upon thousands endured it to feed their families and keep a roof over their heads. She must try.
Approaching the gates, she read the sign and nodded determinedly. Brunswick Mill. With luck, she’d be an employee before the day was through.
‘Get off me, you swine! Get off me!’
Sally heard the furious voice before seeing the speaker. Squinting towards the mill, she frowned when two figures emerged. One held the other by the scruff of the neck and as they drew nearer, she gasped to see that the shorter was a young woman. The man towering above dragged her, kicking and cursing, to the gates.
‘You sod, yer! Make you feel big, does it, bullying lasses?’
His face twisted in a snarl and Sally stepped hastily aside when he hauled open the gates. With an almighty shove, he sent the woman flying into the gutter by Sally’s feet and slammed the gates shut.
‘Now bugger off, you idle bitch. There’s wenches aplenty what will fill your place – hard-working wenches at that.’
The woman’s eyes blazed. ‘Idle? Idle? I’m one of the best spinners in that place and you know it. You’ve lied through your rotten teeth to get me out ’cause I told you where to go when you tried it on, you dirty swine, yer. Can’t keep your filthy hands to yourself, can you? Aye, well, you can shove your job where the sun don’t reach! I’d sooner starve in t’ gutter than you touch me.’
Sally, already horrified by the brutal treatment, could hold back no longer. She shook her head at the smirking man in disgust. ‘Is this true? You’ve dismissed this woman for that?’
With a curl of his lip, he looked her up and down. ‘And what the bugger’s it to do with thee? Go on, clear off the pair of you, afore I fetch a constable.’ He threw the last words over his shoulder and strode away.
She watched his retreating back in disbelief then turned to the woman, a pretty thing with dark hair and an elfin face, sitting on the flagstones. ‘Disgraceful! He cannot get away with that, surely?’
Chuckling, she allowed Sally to assist her up. ‘By gum, lass, you don’t know the way of things reet well, d’you? Course he’ll get a-bloody-way with it. Anyroad, I’m not mithered. I’m glad to be free of that place; least I’ll not have that sod’s roving hands to fight off any more.’
Sally helped her brush dirt from her skirt and shawl, thankful she’d witnessed the incident before enquiring for a position. She certainly didn’t want to work in environments like that, with people like him.
‘I came seeking employment. I’m glad I didn’t get the chance, now. Are you all right?’ she asked when the woman winced and rubbed the arm that had taken the brunt of the fall.
‘Aye, tough as owd leather, me. Ta for speaking out for me. What’s your name?’
‘Sally Swann. You?’
The woman shook the proffered hand warmly. ‘Maggie Benson. Nice to meet thee, lass.’
A sigh chased away Sally’s smile. ‘I don’t know what I’m to do. I’d pinned my hopes on finding work there.’ She frowned, realising Maggie was now in the same position. ‘What about you? Will you find alternative employment?’
Maggie bit her lip. ‘I hope so. I’m a widow with two young ’uns to feed. Mam helps out but we’ll not manage with no wage coming in.’ She glanced up and down the street. ‘I’d best get looking. Take care, Sally, and good luck to you, lass. I hope you find summat. ’Ere, if you’re ever passing, I live at Davies Street, number thirty-two. You’d be welcome any time.’
‘Thank you, Maggie, that’s very kind. Good luck.’
She watched her hurry down the road and hoped fervently that Maggie would find something soon. She didn’t deserve dismissal because that awful man couldn’t keep his hands to himself. Life was so unfair.
She turned and retraced her steps. She’d walked no further than a hundred yards when snow began to fall. Her first thought was Stan. He’d been right, after all – albeit a few days out. Drawing her threadbare shawl over her head, Sally trudged on.
She glanced in every shop window for the small cards placed when staff were needed, but each proved empty. Halting at the end of the street, she shivered and peered about uncertainly. People rushed in all directions, heads lowered against the flakes spiralling from the yellow-tinged sky, footsteps muffled as flags and cobbles disappeared beneath a blanket of white.
Maybe she should call it a day, she thought reluctantly, heart heavy with disappointment. She couldn’t stay out in this much longer. Her face was stinging, fingers and toes numb. She’d have to try tomorrow. And the day after, and the day after that if necessary. No matter what, she would find work.
The promise of hot tea and a hearty fire urging her, she turned for Grace’s. As she crossed the road, a girl by a string of shops caught her eye. Drawing level, Sally watched curiously as she continued to peer through a pawnbroker’s window. However, she wasn’t admiring the array of goods on sale but staring at a white card.
Her stomach lurched. They must have a position, yet she’d spotted it too late. This girl, no older than fifteen, would surely leap at the chance of shop-work rather than a mill.
The girl squinted at the scrawled words a moment longer. Then to Sally’s surprise, she snorted, muttered, ‘Aye, not bloomin’ likely!’ and walked away.
Frowning, she hurried to the sign. Her workhouse education was limited, to say the least, but she could read a little. She traced a finger across the cold glass:
Seeking companion for elderly lady
Must have lots of patience
Apply within to Miss Sharp
Sally read it again. After the third attempt, she still hadn’t deciphered what she must have ‘lots of’. Dicksy had taught her many big words, whose spoken meaning she understood. Reading them was another matter.
She read the tricky word out loud, prodding each letter: ‘P–a–t–i–e–n–c–e.’ Still none the wiser, she shrugged, excitement stirring. Miss Sharp would surely tell her what she required.
She lifted her face to the snow-filled sky. ‘Please, Lord, let me get this position,’ she whispered. Pushing the girl’s words from her mind, she turned the brass knob.
A bell tinkled as she entered and a willowy figure, mousy-brown hair bound in a neat bun, emerged through a door behind the counter. Her disarming smile immediately put Sally at ease. Lowering her damp shawl, she stepped forward.
‘May I help you, dear?’
Sally fought the urge to raise an eyebrow. The articulate tone contrasted sharply with how the majority of Manchester’s inhabitants spoke. ‘Are you Miss Sharp?’
‘I’m Pru Sharp, yes.’
‘The card in the window said apply within. Is the position still vacant?’
Pru’s eyes widened. ‘Indeed. Do you wish to apply?’
What was it Aunt Grace said? she thought quickly. Flash a smile and be polite, that was it.
‘I’d be most grateful to be considered for the position, Miss Sharp, and believe that, given the opportunity, I would be a worthy employee. I would not cut corners or shirk my responsibilities. My full attention would be on the job in hand at all times. You’d receive complete dedication from me, I assure you. You have my word and my honour.’
Pru’s lips twitched. ‘Well. That was a mighty fine speech, Mrs …?’
Sally flushed. Had she ruined her chances? Her tongue had run away with itself in her desperation to make a good impression. ‘Swann. Sally Swann.’
‘Well, Sally, you certainly have a way with words. You’re not from around here, I presume?’
‘I was born here. I have recently returned and am residing with my aunt—’
‘And in order to pay your way, you’re seeking employment?’
‘Yes.’
‘Agnes, my mother, requires constant care. However, the shop needs running and I cannot be in two places at once. She is bed-bound and hasn’t left her room in many years.’ Brow furrowing, Pru looked Sally up and down. ‘The position would require lifting, to bathe and dress her and suchlike. Do you believe you are up to it? She’s small but can be somewhat difficult when she chooses. You would need a lot of patience.’
Patience! That was what she’d need lots of. Her shoulders relaxed. Putting up with Joseph all those years was proof she had the patience of a saint. ‘I’m very patient, Miss Sharp, and stronger than I look.’
‘The position has been open for some time. That was how I knew you were not from these parts. You would not have enquired if you were.’
The girl in the street’s scathing comment came back to Sally. She frowned curiously. ‘I don’t understand.’
Pru glanced to the ceiling. ‘I’ll be honest with you, Sally. My mother can be rather … fractious. Another young woman used to care for her. There was … an incident, shall we say, and afterwards … Well, I can see why people are reluctant to take the position.’
‘Incident? What kind of incident?’
Dull banging sounded. They looked up in unison.
‘What incident, Miss Sharp?’ she repeated.
‘Prudence? Prudence!’
At the gravelly voice from above, desperation flickered in Pru’s eyes. ‘I must see what she wants. So, dear? Are you up for the job?’
After a brief hesitation, Sally nodded. What choice had she? She needed the money. Besides, how bad could the old woman be?
‘Good! That is good! I will see you tomorrow morning, nine o’clock sharp.’ Hurrying out from behind the counter, Pru ushered her to the door. ‘Goodbye, dear.’
‘Wait, what about payment? What of my hours?’
‘Prudence Sharp! Do you hear me?’
Her smile slipping as she glanced to the ceiling, Pru flapped a hand. ‘Oh, we shall discuss the necessary details tomorrow. Now, I really must go.’ She turned on her heel and disappeared inside the shop.
Sally stared in bewilderment at the closed door then turned for home. Her emotions were conflicting. On the one hand, she was elated to find work so quickly, yet a worm of doubt was growing. What had occurred between the elderly lady and her previous employee? She’d ask Grace. Miss Sharp said most knew of the ‘incident’; surely her aunt had heard?
By the time she reached the entry, she’d all but dismissed her misgivings. Whatever had happened, she wouldn’t let it put her off. She was just thankful she’d soon be bringing in a wage. Besides, at least she wouldn’t be working in the factories, fighting off the advances of men like him at Brunswick Mill.
She said a private prayer that Maggie Benson would manage to find another position. She’d ask Grace for directions to Davies Street and visit her on her first day off. Perhaps they could become friends.
Feeling brighter about the future than she had in a long time, Sally hurried across the snow-covered cobbles with a happy sigh.
She couldn’t wait to tell her aunt the good news.
Ivy Morgan flopped into a chair and wiped her brow with the back of her hand. Peering at the wooden rack above the fire festooned with sheets and clothes, she pulled a face and reached for the teapot. She hated Mondays with a passion. The scrubbing, wringing and heavy lifting played havoc with her ageing bones.
She glanced at the clock, swore under her breath and gulped down her tea. The men would be home shortly and here she was sitting on her backside, with the tin bath to fill and evening meal to prepare.
After filling at the well and boiling on the fire pan after pan of water for the bath, she dragged herself to a cupboard, selected vegetables and returned to the table, collecting a knife on the way. Deft hands peeled and chopped and in no time the veg was bubbling away, adding to the steam from the drying clothes and bath.
The stuffy room became too much. She refilled her cup, opened the cottage door and, leaning against the frame, let the breeze soothe her flushed cheeks.
Snow had at last ceased and the pure white landscape was breathtaking. Bright domes of hills looked magical, like summer clouds that had fallen from the sky. It had even transformed the row from grubby to beautiful.
‘Bugger it! God-awful snow.’
Ivy glanced to her left and watched Martha Smith, slipping and sliding, in amusement. ‘’Ere, Martha. Watch your bleedin’ step, wench. Don’t you go falling and showing the row your dimples.’
Martha’s head shot up, making her wobble dangerously. Round face beetroot-red, she stretched out her arms to steady herself then shook a beefy fist. ‘You swine, yer! Nearly went arse over elbow, then.’
Ivy burst out laughing and Martha, grinning, shuffled on her way.
Ivy had been dreading seeing her but Martha had been surprisingly understanding yesterday. She’d tried making eye contact several times at chapel but Ivy had looked away. When service was over, she’d made a beeline for her outside but Ivy quickly struck up conversation with another neighbour, and Martha hadn’t approached. However, Ivy had arrived home to find her waiting at the gate.
Martha’s expression, soft with friendliness, had thrown her, and when she invited Ivy to her cottage for a sup of tea, she had been unable to refuse.
She was glad she hadn’t. The hour spent in Martha’s spotless kitchen was pleasant. Over tea, they had a good natter. Conversation had eventually swung to the Godens and though Ivy didn’t disclose anything Sally told her in confidence, she did admit guilt at not noticing what was going on – even after Martha voiced her concerns.
Martha had told her not to be daft. ‘You don’t expect it on your own doorstep, wench. Least she’s out of it, now, thanks to thee. You gave her the means and strength to leave the divil.’
Curious, Ivy had asked how she’d guessed the poor woman’s plight when she herself had had no idea. Martha confided that she had suffered like Sally during her first marriage.
‘My Reg’s my second husband,’ she’d revealed of the local mole catcher. ‘Wed thirty-odd year we’ve been and I couldn’t be happier, but me first ’un … He were an evil blighter like yon Joseph,’ she’d murmured. ‘I noticed the signs, for I’d been in t’ same boat meself.’
It’s queer how folk look in a different light, Ivy mused now, returning to the kitchen. Since their chat, they were like old friends.
The door opening pulled her from her thoughts and she smiled at Arthur, Tommy and Shaun. Weary faces smiled back, coal-blackened skin glistening in the firelight.
‘Get washed while I see to the grub,’ she instructed.
Behind a length of curtain, the bath stood waiting. Arthur trooped off first to scrub his tired body and she dished out the meal. Her hand stilled, however, when she glimpsed Tommy’s drawn face as he headed for the stairs.
Her son wasn’t himself. Usually he lit up a room. Even after a full shift he’d return with a cheery smile, would chase her around the kitchen for a kiss while she shouted at him to ‘Bugger off covered in that muck!’ But for days he’d been subdued, as though the worries of the world were on his mind.
Midway through the meal, she tackled him. ‘You all right, Tommy lad?’
‘Aye, Mam.’
‘You’ve been morose these past days. You crossed swords with Dolly, or summat?’
Frowning, he lowered his gaze. ‘Nay, why?’
‘Well, when you meet her of a Sunday, you’re usually out all day but you were gone no more than an hour yesterday. Frightened the bloody life from me, tha did, when I returned from Martha’s and found you sat here.’
‘Dolly were snuffly. We cut our walk short so her cowd didn’t worsen.’
He speared a potato with his fork and resumed his meal and she let the matter drop. Maybe she was reading into things that were not there. She’d had a niggling suspicion what – or more to the point, who – had caused this sudden change in him and had tried dismissing it, hoping to God she was wrong.
Her mind drifted to the morning Sally left. After waking, she’d headed for the kitchen but halfway down the stairs was taken aback to see Sally and Tommy at the table.
He’d smiled like he did as a child when caught doing something he shouldn’t. Ivy asked why he was up so early and he’d said he couldn’t sleep. Sally explained she’d wanted to repay Ivy’s kindness, had motioned to the pan of porridge, and their explanations placated her. However, her unease returned when she’d mentioned Sally’s upcoming departure.
Tommy’s head had shot up. ‘You’re leaving today?’ At Sally’s nod, his smile quickly returned.
Ivy had watched the exchange through narrowed eyes. She knew her son too well, especially when he smiled like that. Forced. What went on before I wakened? she’d wondered. She’d sensed something between them, some … spark. And if she was honest, she didn’t like it.
She did feel a lot for Sally, and the cottage seemed empty without her and the child. Nevertheless, Sally was a married woman. She didn’t want her Tommy mixed up in something like that; particularly when the other man was as unstable as Joseph Goden.
Absently pushing food around her plate, she felt, for the first time, relief that Sally had left. But it was tinged with guilt and she offered up yet another silent prayer that she was safe and well. The lass deserved happiness, by God she did. She just hoped that aunt of hers was looking after them.
Sighing, Ivy pushed the youngsters from her mind. Sally was gone. It was pointless fretting over what might be her imagination.
After mopping up gravy with a hunk of crust then popping it into his mouth, Arthur pushed away his plate and burped appreciatively. ‘Eeh. Lovely, that were.’
She reached for the teapot. ‘Bugger these pots, I’ll wash them later. You want another sup?’
‘Aye.’ He moved to his fireside chair and reached for his clay pipe on the mantel. After pressing paper-thin slices from a stick of tobacco into the bowl, he held the slender stem between his lips, took a spill from a pot by the hearth and lit it. As he puffed, he glanced at her. Despite her smile, his brow furrowed. ‘You still fretting over that lass?’
She passed him his cup. ‘Aye, summat like that.’
‘Wench, she’s shot of Goden. He’s never showed his face again at Spring Row and you said yourself, he don’t know she even has an aunt, so she’s no worries there. And she promised to return if she had no joy in Ancoats, didn’t she, so stop fretting.
‘Anyroad, anyone what can stand up to the preacher as you said she did can more than take care of theirself! I bet the owd swine got the shock of his life.’
Shaun joined in his laughter. ‘Aye, good on her! I dread crossing his path. He’s allus saying I’m destined for hell for not attending chapel.’
Ivy flashed him a crooked smile then glanced at Tommy. He looked away, and unease gnawed again. Whenever anyone mentioned Sally, he reacted the same way. She knew she’d been right; it was written all over his face. Well, this needed nipping in the bud. ‘Tommy, why don’t you call on Dolly the morrow after work, ask her to come for her dinner on Saturday?’
Every face showed surprise. All knew she wasn’t keen when Tommy began walking out with the dairymaid last year. She’d voiced often that the lass was too flighty for her liking; she smiled too much; her laugh set Ivy’s teeth on edge …
Ivy and her son stared at each other. After a long moment, he nodded. Then he rose and left the room.
Tommy threw himself on to his bed. His father’s bemused voice, asking Ivy what was wrong with their son, drifted up and when she answered that he was probably just tired, heat crept over Tommy’s face.
She knew exactly what ailed him. He’d seen it in her eyes – that same knowing look when she found him and Sally alone. Any grain of hope she didn’t suspect, she’d shattered when suggesting he ask Dolly to dinner. She’d never encouraged their courtship, had certainly not invited her round before.
He squeezed his eyes shut. His father’s question was a good one – what was wrong with him? He didn’t know himself. It was like a ten-ton weight bearing down on his chest, the ache inside like an itch he couldn’t scratch. A yearning for … something … wouldn’t leave him but he couldn’t grasp what it was or how to make it better or go away.
He peered at his calloused palms and, as he’d done a hundred times, thought back to when they held Sally. The ache intensified; he could almost feel her softness. He scrambled from the bed. He needed to get out of this stifling cottage before he went raving mad.
When he bounded downstairs, everyone looked up in surprise. Averting his eyes, he snatched up his jacket and threw it on.
‘Where’s tha going at this time, and in this weather? It’s bleedin’ perishing out there.’
‘Out. I need some air.’ Before his mother could question him further, he swung the door shut behind him.
Stars peppered the blue-black sky and the row held a stillness that soothed his jumbled mind. Golden fire and candlelight from cottage windows slowly faded as he walked on through the deserted night.
A low stone wall stood out against the darkness. He brushed off snow with his sleeve and sat down. Silence enveloped him and digging his hands into his trouser pockets, he closed his eyes. Sharp air burned with each breath but he relished it; it was a welcome relief to the pain in his heart.
What had come over him? What switch had been triggered in his brain to turn him from the happy-go-lucky chap into this snappy, distracted one who could think of nothing but the married woman no longer here? At the thought of her, his stomach bounced and he sighed in frustration. This wasn’t like him. No woman had ever had this effect upon him – not even Dolly, he admitted.
An open face framed by corn-coloured hair floated across his mind. He smiled sadly. A fine-looking, lovable woman, was his Dolly. Creamy skin with its dusting of freckles lent her an almost childlike appearance. But her plump body, from what he’d felt, was definitely that of a woman.
He allowed his thoughts to wander. Her soft buttocks, which she sometimes let him squeeze when they were alone by the river, and her hips, which swayed when she walked, made his hands itch for her. Then there was her generous bust, like overripe melons awaiting discovery, which pressed against him when they kissed. And yet …
He heaved a sigh. Despite his carnal desire, despite her cheery disposition and saucy laughter, he’d never felt that … something, that special spark. The spark that hit him like a thunderbolt the other night when gazing upon Sally in the moonlight.
He hadn’t realised something was missing until he felt it with Sally. Never had his heart jolted so violently. Never had his loins burned with a desire that engulfed him. Never had anyone so completely, hopelessly, consumed him.
He wasn’t a vain man but was aware what impact he had on the opposite sex. He’d had his pick of Breightmet’s lasses but Dolly’s sunny personality and cheeky ways hooked him. She was full of life, a breath of fresh air to be around after being holed in the ground’s inky confines with sweaty men all week.
His mind drifted to the day before and their usual weekly stroll by the river. The first afternoon with her he’d had to drag himself to. He hadn’t lied to his mother; Dolly had been snuffly. But she’d insisted she was fine, that nothing would keep her from seeing him. He’d used her slight cold, however, as a means of cutting the meeting short.
Picturing her blue eyes deep with hurt at his words, he cringed. Hardly able to keep the edge from his voice, he’d told her she’d be better off going home, had almost sighed in relief when she eventually agreed. Conversation was stilted on the walk back, and when they reached her door his lips barely touched her cheek before he strode away.
Shaking his head to dispel the guilty thoughts, he rose and paced up and down, unseeing. He was a simple fellow, always had been. As long as he had a meal in his belly and clothes on his back, he was happy. All he wanted in life was for he and his loved ones to be content and one day to raise a healthy family of his own. He’d had his future mapped out but now, his whole world had turned on its head.
What was he to do? How could he visit Dolly tomorrow, sit with her at dinner on Saturday, make small talk, act like all was well? How could he pretend nothing had changed, that one day, as they both thought inevitable, they would wed? How could he sign away his life to someone who stood beside him in the flesh yet came second to the one in his heart?
He couldn’t do it. Marriage was for ever and he wouldn’t live a lie. He didn’t deserve to spend the rest of his days unhappy and, more importantly, neither did Dolly.
That he was considering this! Dolly, his Dolly … He’d never imagined his feelings could so rapidly change because of another woman – one he’d spent just a few hours alone with, at that. And what of Sally? She was miles away, bound for life to a husband a few cows short of a herd. And for all he knew, she might have already forgotten him.
Chest constricting at the possibility, he slapped the wall. She’d shown no indication she felt anything for him, except for pressing against him when she fainted. She’d clung to him, reached out when he laid her in the chair. But that was the workings of her fuddled mind, he realised with a jolt.
Say he did call it off with Dolly; what then? Track Sally down and declare his love? She’d either laugh in his face or ask when he was due back at the asylum.
He sat down and covered his face with his hands. How in God’s name could he imagine she might feel the same?
Tightness in his chest returned at the prospect of never seeing her again, but with great effort he ignored it. For days, he’d pined for someone he could never have. He’d been so damn foolish. Relentless thoughts of her were even affecting work; he’d been yelled at down the pit today for not paying attention. He knew hardly anything about her, yet couldn’t rid his mind of her.
She was like no one he’d ever met. He was constantly going over every word she’d uttered in that well-spoken voice, every little smile, how she’d looked up at him from beneath her lashes …
He rose and turned for home. This had to stop. He was acting like a lunatic. She’d flitted in and out of his life without knowing the impact she’d left on him and she never would. He must forget her.
Nearing Spring Row, his thoughts switched to the money beneath his mattress. He’d been flattered when she asked his help, had hidden it before the house stirred. It had felt like their little secret, something they shared that was just theirs, and he hadn’t wanted anyone taking that away. Well, this fantasy ended now. Tomorrow, he’d inform his family of the generous gift.
Despite his inner turmoil, his mouth curved, picturing Shaun’s face when he discovered he could finally shake off the pit’s shackles. The lad had been born with a talent few people were lucky to have. He had no doubts he’d make a fine carpenter.
His heart swelled with brotherly pride. He might jest with Shaun but, deep down, loved him dearly. Recalling teasing him over taking a fancy to Sally, he smiled ruefully. He’d known the lad hadn’t, was simply of an age where the mere mention of a lass had him blushing to the roots of his hair. The irony was almost laughable.
‘Tommy Morgan? That you, lad?’
Peering through the darkness, he saw Ma Thompson at her cottage door. ‘Aye, it’s me. Everything all right?’
‘Eeh, lad, am I glad to see thee. I thought I’d be stuck with him the night. Will you lend a favour to an owd woman and help him home? He come forra jug of ale, supped it in one then fell asleep and for the life of me, I can’t waken the swine!’
‘Who is it?’
‘George Turner, lad. It’s not the first time he’s done this, nay it’s not, but I were worried sending him on his way in this snow. With the state he’s in, he’ll finish up breaking his skull. He were fair skenning when he arrived. I’m buggered if I know how he managed to get here at all.’
In the kitchen, the inebriated customer sat sprawled across the tabletop, snoring loudly.
‘George Turner, wake up, you bugger,’ she called in his ear.
The carter moved not a muscle and Tommy smiled when the old woman turned red and shook the shoulder harder.
‘I know tha hears me. Come on, gerrup. I want my bed.’ She jumped when, suddenly, George sat bolt upright.
‘Eeh, wench, that’s the best offer I’ve had all year,’ he slurred, snaking an arm around her waist.
Tommy burst out laughing and George grinned across at him.
‘Get out of it, you bleeder, yer!’ she shouted, swatting his hand. ‘You might be sloshed but I’m not. Come on, out!’
‘Come on, Mr Turner, I’ll see you home.’
Chuckling, George lumbered to his feet and blew Ma Thompson a kiss. ‘Goodnight, God bless, my lovely.’
‘Oh, go on with you.’ Clicking her tongue, she shooed him from the cottage. ‘You will see him right inside, won’t you, lad?’ she asked Tommy as he took the carter’s elbow and led him down the path.
‘Aye. Goodnight.’
With a grateful smile, she bade him goodnight, rolled her eyes at George and closed the door.
Tommy steered him into the row. ‘You had a lucky escape, there, Mr Turner. I thought she’d go at thee with the poker.’
‘She’s a feisty one. Just my kind of wench, lad, just my kind of wench. D’you know, I’d marry her the morrow if she’d let me. She’d make a fine wife.’
Tommy hid a smile, suspecting her greatest asset to the carter was her ale-brewing abilities.
After zigzagging to George’s home, he helped him inside and lowered him into his fireside chair. ‘Will you be all right, now, Mr Turner?’
‘Aye, lad, aye. Eeh, you’re a good ’un, Tommy.’
‘It were no bother. Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight, God bless. ’Ere, give a message to your mam, tell her I got the young Goden lass to Bolton in one piece, will you?’ He peered up through one eye. ‘Said she’d have my guts for garters if I didn’t look after her. By, she’s a fine woman, your mam, she is that.’
At the mention of Sally, Tommy swallowed hard. ‘I’ll tell her.’
‘Aye, the lass will be all right with that big bugger she’s took on. No one will try owt with him by her side.’
Halfway over the threshold, he turned. ‘What’s that?’
‘Ruddy great mutt followed us on t’ cart; took a shine to her, it had. She took it with her for protection, like.’
‘Big black ’un?’
‘Aye.’
He smiled. ‘I don’t believe it. Well, I’m glad to hear that. It did seem fond of her.’
‘Aye, lad. And I hope that if it ever gets a grip of that divil, Goden, it rips his rotten throat out. Gorra grip of me Monday night last, he did, snarling like a rabid dog, wanting to know if I’d given the lass a lift. Aye, well, he went off with a flea in his ear, for I told him I’d not seen hide nor hair of her. Bloody fuming, he were. But he got nowt from me, he didn’t that.’
As the grinning carter closed his eye, Tommy gripped the door frame. ‘Joseph? He’s been back to Spring Row?’
‘I were on my way home from the Old Hare and Hounds – been forra jar to warm my bones – and he cornered me in t’ lane.’
‘But he can’t … How did he find out so soon?’ Without waiting for a reply, he mumbled goodbye and left the cottage.
Sprinting through the snow towards home, his mind raced. How in hell had that madman found out so quickly? What if he discovered where she’d gone? It didn’t bear thinking about. Was Sally aware he was on the prowl? Tommy very much doubted it; she probably felt safe, now. But if what George Turner said was right, she was anything but. She needed warning.
He couldn’t just forget her. He couldn’t switch off his feelings, had been foolish to think it. She’d possessed his very soul. He’d do anything to protect her.
No one would harm her again. Not if he could prevent it.