SHE’D ASKED FOR him.
Heavy clouds scudded, promising more snow. Occasionally, chinks of sunlight penetrated but did little to brighten the row. It remained a colourless canvas, devoid of life and beauty. The temperature had plummeted and a steady wind had taken hold, whistling around the cottages like a living thing, its haunting moan encompassing all it touched.
Hunched against the wall, arms folded, Tommy stared through the window, seeing nothing.
His physical self had separated from his mind. One stood in a small cottage in Spring Row, the other was worlds away, trapped in a darkness he doubted he’d ever break from. He was dimly aware of the hum of voices behind him but they didn’t mean a thing. Nothing did. Nothing mattered. Nothing.
She’d asked for him.
Tommy had carried her from the cart, up the stairs. He’d lowered her into his own bed and dropped to his knees. Flitting figures, voices – his mother, the woman on the cart with him – swum on the outskirts of his awareness. Like a starving dog eyeing a bone, he’d guarded the precious being from all who surrounded her.
For a long time, Sally had lain prone, eyes closed. Suddenly, taking everyone by surprise, they sprang open. The glassy pools had fixed on a point behind Tommy then her body jolted. Pungent liquid spilled from her mouth, drenching her torn blouse. He’d lifted her head, the flow ceased and she’d continued to retch, dry heaves bending her double.
Finally, her face relaxed and he’d lowered her blindly, tears obliterating his vision. As he blinked them back, his stomach had lurched to see her staring straight at him. Her gaze was steady and when her lips moved he’d had to dip his head to catch her words. What he heard shattered his heart into a thousand pieces.
She’d asked for Con.
The name scorched his soul. His head had jerked in a shake of denial but she’d looked through him and said it again. Then he was there. He cupped her face, caressed her cheek with his thumb, murmured her name. Sighing, Sally had closed her eyes.
For hours, Tommy’s mind had replayed the scene. Throughout, the cottage was a hive of tears and voices, yet he’d heard but that one word. His was the first face she saw upon wakening. And the Irishman was the one she’d wanted.
Deep down, he’d known the truth. She’d now confirmed it, with her own lips, and crushed his heart to pulp.
‘Merciful God, release me from this living hell,’ he murmured against the cold pane.
Maggie glanced in turn at the people around the table. Clasping steaming cups of tea, they conversed in subdued voices. Anger, tears, questions and explanations had dwindled. Now, they shared but one concern – Sally’s best interests.
‘I don’t want to leave her,’ Maggie said. ‘That swine might come back; I’ll not risk that happening. Sally speaks highly of thee, Mrs Morgan, and I don’t doubt you care for her as much as we, but it’s just not safe, here.’
‘I’ve a mind to agree, but what choice is there? It’ll take more than a few hours’ kip to sleep off all that booze. Then there’s her injuries. I dread to think what pain she’ll be in when the ale’s not there to take off the edge.’ Ivy patted Maggie’s hand. ‘I’ve known thee only several hours but see why Sally chose you for a friend. You’re a good soul, with a kind heart to match. But you can’t move her, lass, not today.
‘My offer still stands, mind,’ she added when Maggie sighed. ‘You’re all welcome to bed down here the night. If Sally’s up to the journey the morrow, youse can set off home in t’ morning.’
Martha Smith nodded agreement, followed by Con.
‘She’s right, so, Maggie. Sally’s in no fit state to be moved.’ Catching Arthur’s eye, his turned icy. ‘As for her husband, if he’s fool enough to show his face again—’
‘Then God help him,’ Arthur finished for him.
Having given Jonathan a last feed with promises to return if needed, Mrs Oakes had left shortly before. Sated, he lay in Maggie’s arms. She stroked his hand and nodded. ‘I’ll stop the night, Mrs Morgan. Thank you.’ She turned to Mr Lynch. ‘Are you …?’
‘Nay, I can’t stop. My wife would fret herself sick. I’ll be back the morrow, lass.’
‘Ta, Mr Lynch.’
‘Nay, no thanks needed. That lass upstairs is niece to my owdest friend. I’m only happy to help. I’ll call on Ed and Grace, tell them what’s occurred.’
‘Play it down, will thee? There’s no point worrying them witless. There’ll be time enough for explanations the morrow, once we’ve got Sally home.’
He nodded. ‘Tha stopping, lad?’ he asked Con.
‘I …’ Con glanced from the stairs to the window. ‘Well, I …’
‘You go, Con. She’s in safe hands,’ said Maggie quietly. The concern in his eyes pained her a little and instantly, she felt ashamed. Her dearest friend lay broken and all she could think of was her own wants. She lowered her head in self-disgust yet Con, putting his finger under her chin, raised it again.
‘And you, Maggie? You’ll be all right?’ he murmured.
‘Aye.’ Stupefied, it was all she could utter. She smiled and he returned it then made for the door with Mr Lynch. They bade all goodbye and were gone.
Arthur looked to the window, gave a small sigh and went to join his younger son by the fire. The lad sat cross-legged, stroking Shield, and he crouched beside him to inspect the dog’s progress. It was sleeping, its breathing steady. Hopefully, it would recover. As with its mistress, they could only pray.
Martha poured weary-looking Ivy a fresh cup of tea then motioned to Maggie.
She shook her head absently. Con’s image burned behind her eyes and his touch lingered on her skin. Flushing with pleasure and shame, she headed upstairs.
Dawn hadn’t yet broken when Sally stirred. A distant smile lingered, half her mind still suspended in a dream.
She was with her mother and Jonathan, Shield trotting alongside. They were walking through an emerald-green field abloom with cowslip and buttercups, the air heady with love. Rose held Jonathan up and he laughed as she planted kisses on his cheek.
When he turned to look at his mother with smiling eyes of the same sapphire blue, Sally’s heart swelled with pride for the fine-looking boy he’d become. They sat in the sweet-smelling grass and she lifted her face to the sun with a rush of such happiness, it stole her breath. Rose drew her close and she rested her head on her shoulder.
Her heart skipped as she caught sight of a tall, dark-haired man heading towards them across the field. His face was in shadow but she knew without question that she loved him, and that he loved her. In his muscular arms, he carried a girl with hair the colour of corn. She lifted a tiny hand and Sally waved back …
Dull pain and a raging thirst like nothing she’d ever known were pulling her from the beautiful scene. She heard her mother’s voice, soft as a whisper on the breeze:
‘All’s not over. Be strong, lass. Be strong.’
The pain came in waves and she drifted further until her loved ones were but a blot in the distance.
‘Mam? Mam, I cannot find you. Please, Mam,’ she cried, fingers searching the air.
‘Sally? ’Ere, lift your head, lass, take some water.’
Water. Yes, she needed water.
The room was too dark to see. Fiery fingers clawed every inch of her. Her head was lifted and she guided the hand to her mouth. Cold metal brushed her lips and for a full minute she drank. She lay back against the pillow. Footsteps sounded and streaky light flared then dipped as a candle was lit.
‘How are you feeling? Oh, I’ve been that worried.’
‘Maggie?’ Her voice was scratchy and she frowned, hearing it. ‘Maggie, I don’t …’
‘Shhh. Everything’s going to be all right. You rest.’
Another spasm cut through her and she sucked in air sharply. ‘It hurts.’
‘I know, lass,’ Maggie murmured, a catch behind the words. ‘D’you remember … owt? Oh, I don’t know what to … I’m so sorry.’
Sally’s breath came in short gasps. ‘Tell me … Please, tell me the truth. My child. Is he … alive?’
‘Oh, love. The babby’s fine. He weren’t with you, remember?’
She released a sob. ‘Thank God. Where …?’ She wept when her friend placed Jonathan in her arms. Ignoring the pain, she held him close. ‘I remember. Joseph, he—’ Her head shot up. ‘Where is he? What—?’
‘Don’t you fret about that divil,’ cut in Maggie venomously. ‘He’ll not harm thee again. Mr Morgan and his son – Thomas, is it? – they found you, lass.’
‘Tommy …’
‘Aye. And Con—’
‘Con? How …? And you’re here. Am I at your home? Are we in Manchester?’ Her voice rose in distress. ‘I, I don’t understand what’s happening, I—’
‘Shh. Easy, now. You’re at Mrs Morgan’s. Con’s returned to Manchester with Mr Lynch but they’ll be back today. Try and sleep. I’ll explain everything later.’
With a hint of her former strength, she responded firmly. ‘No, Maggie, tell me now. I must understand. Please. Tell me.’
For the next hour, they talked and cried in equal measures. Maggie prompted her to begin from the earliest point she remembered and, with supportive hand squeezes, helped her give voice to her ordeal. Frequently, her memory failed and, if able, Maggie filled in the gaps from Arthur’s and Con’s versions.
‘That’s all there is to tell. You were sick summat awful yesterday, but I think you’re over the worst.’
Her friend tore her gaze away and Sally’s hand strayed to her face. Inside she was on the mend; outside was clearly another matter. ‘Is it so bad, Maggie?’
‘We … Mrs Morgan, Mrs Smith and me, tended your injuries best we could. Mrs Smith set your nose well, and we bathed your bruises with gentle care, lass.’
Looking down, she saw they had replaced her torn blouse with one of Ivy’s. ‘Oh, Maggie. Con’s lovely gift …’
‘Eeh, don’t fret on that. Aye, you look much better than you did when … when …’ Sally took her hand, and her facade crumbled. ‘Oh, lass, your poor face and body! It’s hard believing you’re the same woman we know and love. I could kill that bastard with my bare hands!’
‘Don’t fret, Maggie, please. They’ll heal.’
‘Aye, lass,’ she agreed determinedly. ‘You’ll be back to your owd self in no time. Besides the thirst, you slept well through the night. I gave you sips of water when you wakened—’ She broke off, cheeks flushing. ‘I latched Jonathan on to thee when he were clemmed. I hope you don’t mind, only Mrs Oakes had gone—’
‘Of course not. I must remember to thank her. And you,’ Sally added, lips trembling. ‘You, the Morgans, Con, Mr Lynch … I owe you all so much.’ She fell silent. Words could never portray her gratitude. ‘The child, too, who helped Mr Morgan and Tommy; what was her name? Alice and Harold, they …’ This conjured up her sister-in-law’s image and Sally breathed deeply. ‘They have quite a few children.’
She cast her mind back. Alice was with child when she and Joseph dwelled with them before moving to Spring Row. She’d previously borne twins but, if Sally remembered correctly, they were boys. There was also another boy, a year or two older. She trawled her memory for the senior children.
‘One was Mary. And another … Lizzie? Yes, Lizzie.’ She nodded then frowned. ‘There were more but I cannot recall their names. Was it either of those, Maggie? Mary, Lizzie?’
‘I don’t think so. You’ll have to ask Mr Morgan.’
Sally was quiet for a moment before asking, ‘Is Shield hurt badly? I know I haven’t had him long but I don’t know what I’d do if he died.’
‘Aye,’ Maggie answered truthfully. ‘As I said, he’s gorra terrible cut to his head. But Mrs Morgan’s sons kipped down in t’ kitchen so we could have their beds, so don’t fret, he’s not alone.’
Sally shook her head and fresh tears welled up. ‘So much damage … He’s caused so much hurt and pain. He did attack Mrs Morgan; I just knew he had. I loathe him so much I can taste it.’ She gripped her friend’s hand. ‘He forced himself on me, Maggie. Countless times. What if I’m with child? I, I couldn’t bear—’
‘Oh, Sally. Oh, my poor love. Whatever happens, you’re not alone, not while I draw breath.’
Sally began to weep. ‘I want my mother. Oh, Maggie, I miss her so much.’
‘I know, love, I know. You called for her when you wakened.’
A flash of emerald green, her mother, Jonathan … A man, a small child in his arms. It had been a wonderful, bittersweet dream. She sighed longingly and, from far away, heard again her mother’s warning from beyond the grave.
‘Remember, you’ll allus have us,’ Maggie was saying now. ‘Me, Con, the Morgans and your family. There’s no real substitute forra mother, but—’
‘He hasn’t finished, Maggie. All is not over.’
She spoke in such a chilling, knowing tone that Maggie paled. ‘Nay, lass. By the end of the day, we’ll be in Manchester—’
‘And he’ll find me. I’ll never be free of him, don’t you understand? I’ll never be free.’
‘Then you must go somewhere else. Get right away from here; out of England, if you must.’
‘What? But—’
‘However much the thought of never seeing thee again pains me … What your husband’s capable of is clear to see. If your prediction proves right, he might not spare your life next time.’
‘Where would I go? What would I do for money? It’s hopeless, Maggie, hopeless.’
‘Ah, but it ain’t.’
She frowned. ‘What do you mean? You and Con – why are you here? What’s going on?’
‘Oh, Sally …’ Maggie’s eyes shone. ‘After you left, Saturday, Father Collins came to see you. I shouted but you were too far away to hear. I were beside meself, unsure what to do. Thankfully, Con visited that night and when I told him, he went to ask your aunt’s advice. She said to find thee, to get Mrs Morgan’s address from Mr Lynch.’ She reached for her hands and squeezed. ‘Oh, you’ll never believe.’
‘What, Maggie? What did Father Collins want?’
‘You’re bloomin’ rich, lass. Mrs Sharp’s left you money – lots of it, by all accounts. Eeh, I’m that pleased for thee!’
Sally gazed at her.
‘Father Collins didn’t go into detail. He needs to speak to you; urgent, like, he said.’
‘I … Why on earth would she leave me money?’
‘I don’t know, but don’t you see? This changes everything. You’ll have enough brass to see you and Jonathan set for life. You can get away, away from Joseph, for ever. You’re free.’
She was still dreaming, had to be. Or Maggie was mistaken.
‘I’ll make some tea. Will you be all right while I’m gone?’
Sally nodded. When her friend’s tread on the stairs faded, she released a long breath. One thought, one tantalising possibility, consumed her.
‘I’m free,’ she whispered to the empty room. ‘Oh, Mrs Sharp …’
For the dozenth time that morning, her tears flowed. Only now, they were of hopeful joy.
Having drifted off, Sally jumped awake when Maggie re-entered. Fear and confusion must have shown in her eyes, for her friend hurried over, her own soft with pity.
‘It’s all right, lass, it’s only me.’ She placed two cups beside the bed and smoothed the hair from Sally’s brow. ‘Could you eat? Mrs Morgan’s just up and preparing breakfast for the men. Have I to fetch thee summat?’
‘No, thank you. Are the men awake?’
‘Aye.’
‘Would you ask them to come to me? I need to speak with them.’
Maggie frowned. ‘Are you sure you’re up to it? You should get some rest afore Mr Lynch arrives, build up your strength.’
‘I cannot leave without seeing them. I owe them my life. Please, Maggie.’
‘All right. I’ll fetch them.’
Gritting her teeth against the pain, she pushed herself up in bed. A light knock sounded and Arthur entered.
‘Morning, lass.’
Emotion choked her reply. She held out a hand. ‘Oh, Mr Morgan …’ He made to take it but she threw her arms around his neck. He held her gently until her sobs subsided. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured when they drew apart. ‘I’m simply … Thank you. Thank you.’
‘There’s no need for thanks, lass.’
‘Oh, but there is, I—’ She broke off as a figure appeared in the doorway. The sight of him took her breath away. Again, she held out a hand. ‘Tommy, I … wanted to thank you—’
‘As Father said, there’s no need.’
He remained by the door and she lowered her hand. ‘Nevertheless, thank you.’
He nodded and turned to leave, but Arthur stopped him.
‘Son, wait. Wish the lass well and say your goodbyes,’ he instructed him quietly. Then he bid her farewell and slipped from the room.
Sally sensed tension between the men, but the object of her attention overrode everything. He hesitated then crossed to the bed.
He perched on the edge and she held out her hand, albeit hesitantly. She thought he’d rebuff her again but he took it in both of his.
Without doubt, this was the last time she’d look upon him. This man, whom she barely knew yet felt she did completely, and he her, inside out. With whom she’d hardly spent any time and yet she felt they had shared a lifetime together already. This man, who invaded her thoughts, filled her with shame, confusion – and a need to be with him so fierce, it pained her physically. How, why, she harboured this love she was at a loss to understand. But she did. Lord, she did.
She’d struggled to show restraint, fought herself relentlessly. And as she curled her fingers through his, she ached anew for what might have been, what never could, never would be – and what she’d have given for it to be. Her hold tightened. She’d cherish this moment, always.
‘Are you well enough to travel today?’
Fresh longing flowed through her. He’d spoken softly, almost caringly. ‘I think so.’
Tommy was silent. His thumb began stroking the back of her hand.
The urge to wrap her arms around him was unbearable. ‘I’ve been meaning to apologise,’ she blurted for want of something to say. ‘My arrival on Saturday, interrupting as I did … I’m sorry. I hope you and Dolly will be very happy together.’
He opened his mouth, then closed it. He gazed at her for an eternity. Then he sighed and lowered his head. ‘I’ll be late for work.’
She swallowed her pain as he rose. Their fingers were still entwined and when she squeezed, desperate for his touch a second longer, he did likewise.
‘Goodbye, Sally.’
His hand slipped from hers. Gripping the bedclothes, she watched him walk from her for ever.
‘Goodbye, my love,’ she whispered when the door clicked shut. And deep within her breast, part of her died.