‘I’ll just take Lucy as far as the mill-top path.’ Richard knew he’d sounded plausible. His mother had barely looked up from her seat at the fireside, nor had Caroline or his sister paid him any attention. They were too busy chatting and laughing on the couch, fanning themselves as they teased Mrs Weatherall about her love of a fire in the evening, even when it was well-nigh mid-summer. He felt sure that they hadn’t sensed the strain in his voice, his desperate need to flee from the suffocating impossibility of this happy family scene. He took deep breaths of the evening air as he stood on the terrace, taking in the sweep of the valley below, the sound of rushing water, the dampness creeping in after the warmth of the day. Lucy whimpered and pawed impatiently at his legs, eager to be away. As he unlatched the gate at the side of the house, Lucy bounded ahead of him onto the track, sniffing the air joyfully. The gathering dusk soothed Richard. There was no one around to see his face, the contortions as he frowned and sighed, pursing his lips as he reconsidered what felt like the indignities of the day. He relived the discussion over the breakfast table, his father full of plans for the new house, his mother trying to interrupt with decisions to be made with regard to the wedding arrangements. Richard’s reticence went unnoticed, overshadowed by Caroline’s enthusiasm.
Then came the promenade round the garden, Caroline’s arm in his as she exclaimed yet again over the view, and the perfect weather. Richard felt sure that he’d made the right responses, gently disengaging himself with expressions of regret about his presence being required at the mill. Caroline had delighted in her day, the chance to have time to get to know his mother and sister properly, his sensitivity in allowing her to do so. Richard should have felt charmed and pleased that all was going so well, that his bride-to-be fitted in so perfectly with his family. Instead, he felt overwhelmed by the effort of keeping up the pretence.
At the mill, Williams had offered congratulations on his forthcoming marriage, having heard that the future Mrs Richard Weatherall was visiting the big house. He’d enquired as to whether ‘we might have the pleasure of a visit from your young lady here?’ Richard read insolence in the way that he said it, saw arrogance in the raised, enquiring eyebrows, and had to choke back his anger, flushing instead so that Williams laughed as he turned away and headed back to the mill floor.
Richard paused where the path forked and whistled for Lucy. He looked back towards the house – his home – where his family talked, at ease, totally unaware of his turmoil. How could he have imagined that he could make Caroline’s visit work? Had he, in fact, imagined anything of the sort? Hadn’t he simply refused to think about it, preferred to bury his head in the sand? He’d delayed the visit as long as he could until his mother had reproached him; she’d warned him that if the engagement was allowed to drag on any longer it would cause gossip. Almost two years had passed since he had proposed and he could no longer make the excuse of needing to establish himself in business. Caroline deserved better, he chided himself – he should have broken with her long before this. By sparing himself the embarrassment of calling off the engagement he had made matters so much worse.
Lucy reappeared at his side and Richard turned onto the path that led through the woods high up above the mill. With the trees in full leaf, the gathering gloom made it hard to see and he had to stop to allow his eyes to adjust so that he could press on safely over the uneven surface. His thoughts turned back to the place where they had been all day, throughout the time when he had gone through the motions of appearing to be involved in house decisions, wedding plans, mill matters and dinner table conversation. Alice’s face appeared before him, dear enough in itself but doubly so with her daughter – his daughter – held up towards him, chubby arms outstretched. Tiny fingers, heart-breaking in their perfection, grasped his, making him feel as though he possessed the hands of a clumsy giant.
How many times had he seen them since Elisabeth had been born? Four? Or was it five? The weather had been against them at first and he’d missed her earliest weeks, unable to find a satisfactory excuse to make his way to Northwaite through the deepest snow that he could remember. Later on, Alice had sought to reassure him, told him that he’d missed little, that Elisabeth had mainly cried and fed, her personality only developing as the weeks passed. Still, he felt cheated, by the passage of time, out of something he would never be able to witness or recreate. Spring had come and all but gone, the days neither long enough nor warm enough for him to catch sight of Alice and Elisabeth together. It was only with the help of Albert acting as their messenger that they’d been able to engineer a meeting one Sunday. Richard had slipped away, after church and lunch, when the family took their customary rest. With Lucy as his pretext, they’d met in a sun-dappled clearing above the bathing pool, well-hidden from the path.
Richard’s heart was quite lost at that first meeting. Elisabeth had been calm and cheerful, cooing with delight at the sight of Lucy. Her mother and father found their attention increasingly drawn away from each other, joining instead in adoration of their daughter. As Richard made his way home afterwards he felt bereft, taking no joy in the signs of summer bursting forth all round him. He felt banished, excluded, picturing Elisabeth and Alice heading home to their family, where Elisabeth would be handed around, cuddled and teased. He longed for the next meeting, but his hopes were dashed when the weather turned against them. Subsequent Sundays had brought Richard joy, tinged with sadness each time when he had to leave Alice and Elisabeth, with the knowledge that a whole week must pass before the chance to see them again would arise.
It was amidst the frustration that the waiting caused him that he’d taken it upon himself to make sure Elisabeth’s birth was registered, facing down the scolding he received for the tardiness of the notification and for the mother’s failure to be present with the baby, which he blamed on illness. He felt a rare moment of pride as he ignored the contempt on the registrar’s face. The man clearly didn’t believe him but didn’t like to challenge him. His own face wasn’t well known in Nortonstall, and so he felt confident in describing himself as a schoolmaster to the wretched man, so that he could set about his form-filling duties. It was only as he strode back to the mill from Nortonstall, following the path past the cottages and the school before it turned away into the woods, that he felt a pang, a realisation of how different his life would be if the falsehood he’d just perpetrated were, in fact, the truth. Had he been a schoolmaster he could be living with Alice in a cottage such as the one he had just passed, with his days spent in the schoolroom so close by, Elisabeth playing in the schoolyard, with her brothers and sisters. He’d had no discussion with Alice about the possibility of a future together, nor any real opportunity to do so. Their precious moments together had focused entirely on Elisabeth of late. Alice knew something of Caroline, but they’d spoken little of her while they were both at the mill, and not at all since then. So, it had hit him hard when his hopes of a meeting with Alice and their baby had been dashed last Sunday. Caroline had arrived for her much-heralded visit, and Richard had found himself unable to slip away to see Alice and Elisabeth as arranged. Caroline had said she simply wasn’t tired enough to rest, and she would love to walk with him and Lucy in the woods. He’d had to endure her obvious wish that they should spend some private time together, knowing that less than half a mile away Alice and Elisabeth waited for him in vain, and that he was to be denied sight of them for what seemed like an intolerable stretch. He’d managed to slip Albert a brief note for Alice, to explain his absence, but his heart ached with longing and he cursed the situation that he found himself in.