OVER THE COMING weeks, Laura threw herself fully into the business. It offered her the distraction she needed, now more than ever before; she shuddered to think what she’d do without it.
She hadn’t yet given Edwin an answer. He’d called to her house twice since putting forward his proposition but each time she’d pretended not to be present. Still, she wasn’t entirely sure what her answer should be. Loath to hurt him with an outright refusal and too mixed up to know if she’d ever be in a position to accept, she’d taken to avoiding him; she hated herself for her cowardice. Of course, she was fond of him, but marriage? So much had changed since her arrival here. She’d been so adamant back then that she’d never wed again, and then Nathan had come along … She hadn’t made a mistake with him, not in the long run, had she? Who was to say that giving Edwin a chance wouldn’t yield similar satisfactory results? Would becoming his wife be so bad? And yet … The conflicting thoughts nagged at her continually.
Then there was young Millicent Figg and her uncle. Laura agonised in silence, imagining day and night – particularly the nights – what she was suffering alone in that house. Could the girl endure it until a solution presented itself? Would Ambrose stick to not touching her? He’d put his hands on her, after all, had crushed her with his weight and grabbed her between the legs during that last encounter before she’d left for Ebenezer Court, hadn’t he? Would he up his depraved game and begin the same with Bridget’s niece?
Yet what could Laura do? Millicent had begged from her her solemn vow that she’d do nothing for now. She couldn’t go back on her promise. To do so would be to lose the trust Millicent had put in her completely. She couldn’t risk that, couldn’t be seen to let her down as well.
The baby steadily growing in her womb was another frequent cause for concern – albeit, Laura suspected, a stress she was making for herself unnecessarily. Though the sickness was, thankfully, abating with each passing day, it also brought her closer to meeting the new person she and Nathan had created; the thought of motherhood both excited and terrified her in equal measures. Would she prove good enough? Would it be healthy, survive? And on, and on.
As for Daniel … Daniel had taken a piece of her heart that she’d never get back. With well-meaning pressure from Joyce and Bee, a date for his and Lizzie’s wedding had been set: the fifth day of September. Laura just prayed she’d be too large with child by then to attend. It had taken everything he had to see her married to another – she, on the other hand, hadn’t the strength for that, she was certain. More than anything else, her crippling guilt towards Lizzie was by far the worst thing. That poor, sweet lass deserved so much better than her for a friend. How she’d cope afterwards, living side by side in the court with the newly-wed couple, she refused to dwell upon.
The women’s hard work paid off and, towards the end of the next month, they were in a position to pay back Daniel the money he’d loaned them in setting up. Though initially he was reluctant to accept it, insisting they hold it off a while longer and to pool it back into the business, that he was in no rush for it just yet, Laura and even Lizzie had been adamant. Recognising their desire to feel independent and understanding their need to see they were making a success of things, he relented. That he was proud of what they had accomplished so far was clear to see. The sense of achievement was immense.
‘’Ere, taste that, tell me what you think.’
Pausing in her task of washing up the mixing bowls, Laura took the small square of cake from Lizzie and popped it into her mouth.
It was a bright but chilly mid-April day and the two women were, as usual, in her kitchen, working on their products. Only today’s cake was proving a more difficult task than either had encountered so far in their new career. Getting this right was important, could add a whole new direction to their business and profits, and they were determined to see it happen.
Sighing in pleasure, she closed her eyes. ‘Eeh, lass, it’s heaven.’
‘Aye? You’re sure the flavouring’s not too overbearing? Now be honest.’
‘Nay, you’ve got it just right with this batch. It’s delicious, it is, really.’
Lizzie blew hair from her hot brow and laughed in relief. ‘Thank the good Lord for that. I were worried for a while there that we’d have to turn the order down.’
‘I had every faith in thee, as ever.’
‘Right, then. Let’s get started.’ Grinning, Lizzie sprang from her seat with fresh purpose. ‘Pass us one of them bowls across, love, and I’ll get another mix on t’ go for the first tier.’
After sampling their wares from the market, an impressed trader’s wife with the shillings to spare had approached them yesterday to ask if they did outside catering – Laura and Lizzie hadn’t known what she meant at first, and the woman had gone on to explain. Her son was soon to be married and she wanted to surprise the couple and guests alike with a unique wedding cake in the style of that designed for the Prince and Princess of Wales, which had been the talk of the empire a decade earlier.
She’d seen the creation in a newspaper at the time and had never forgotten it – would it be beyond the women’s capabilities? she’d wanted to know. Was it possible they could pull off a replica, albeit on a more modest scale – from her descriptions? Of course, without the royal price tag and at a fraction of the cost? she’d hastened to add.
After a private discussion, an elated Laura and Lizzie had agreed to take on the order, certain they could find spare time to fit it around their usual bakes. Arriving home from Smithfield’s, they had got started right away. After numerous attempts, during which they had stressed and fretted they had bitten off more than they could chew, trial and error had paid off – they were finally on the right track. Now, their excitement had returned and, with renewed vigour, they got back to work.
When, days later, the customer came to collect it from the stall, her mouth fell open in surprised delight. For several minutes, she circled it in silence, taking in every detail. Then she gazed from Laura to Lizzie in gratitude and there were clear tears in her eyes.
‘You’ve more than exceeded my expectations. Such talent! If not the empire, it will be the talk of the district, I’m sure. Thank you, truly.’
She wasn’t far wrong – it was, in a word, stunning. The whole court had gathered around to marvel at it this morning upon its completion – the women had toiled throughout the night to get it finished. Laura and Lizzie, bursting with happiness, had accepted their neighbours’ praise with exhausted smiles. It had been a hard slog but worth it, they both agreed.
Of course, it was significantly smaller than the five-foot wonder presented to the royal couple. And theirs was more simplistic in design as, without a visual representation of the original, they had had to guess at its intricacy. Nonetheless, the three-tiered creation, elaborately iced and decorated and festooned with delicately shaded roses and orange blossom, was a work of art, and they were inordinately proud of it and themselves.
‘If I never see another wedding cake, it’ll be too soon,’ Lizzie announced with a chuckle as they watched the thrilled woman leave.
Smothering a yawn, Laura nodded agreement. ‘Well, besides your own, that is.’
‘Hm.’ Lizzie shrugged. ‘Nay, I don’t think so. I don’t think I’ll bother.’
‘Oh. I see, well … you know best, I’m sure,’ said Laura awkwardly, not quite knowing how to respond to this and her friend’s dismissive air. ‘Everything is all right, ain’t it, lass?’ she hazarded to ask after some seconds.
Staring off with a faraway look, Lizzie nodded slowly. ‘Aye. Everything’s just fine.’ Then, as she was wont to do of late whenever anyone mentioned her upcoming wedding, she swiftly changed the subject. ‘So, how did we do in t’ end, brass-wise, love?’
Laura wondered if she should attempt again to press the matter but decided against it. It really was none of her business and, besides, if Lizzie wanted to talk about it with her, she’d have done so by now. ‘We’ve made a clear profit, aye. Not much of one, I grant you, but this could be just the beginning. Hopefully, if we get more orders like the last on top of what we’re already fetching in on t’ regular cakes … the money will soon start rolling in.’
‘You reckon?’
‘I do.’
‘Eeh, who’d have thought it? We’ve come a long way from scrawling letters in t’ centre of simple sponges, ain’t we?’
Laura laughed softly. ‘Aye.’
‘Thinking on it, mebbe we should have asked her for her son and future daughter-in-law’s initials – we could have included them. Carved them around the edging, like, aye. Would have been a nice touch, that. Aye, well, summat to think about next time, eh?’
But Laura had stopped listening. Gasping for breath, she staggered back in sudden realisation. ‘My good God …’
‘What is it, love?’ Lizzie rushed to put an arm around her shaking form. ‘Is summat wrong? The babby …?’
‘Nay. The babby’s fine. I’m fine, I … I’m sorry. I have to go.’
‘Go? But love, what—’
‘I’m sorry,’ Laura repeated, wrapping her shawl around herself. Without another word, she picked up her skirts and hurried away.
How had she not made the connection before?
Having set off at a run the moment the train hissed into Bolton station and having hardly stopped for breath since, Laura was weak-kneed with exhaustion when Breightmet eventually appeared on the horizon. Sucking in air, she slowed her pace, but her gaze remained fixed on the strip of green hills straight ahead.
Her dreams. Adam and Amos’s whisperings. A.C. and L.T. A.C. and L.T. Over and over …
It now made perfect sense.
It was almost as if they had been trying to warn her, to guide her … Of course, Father wasn’t aware of the money’s existence in life; did a soul develop an all-knowing sense in death? Had to. As for Adam … He’d wanted to help her find it, too, must have. Was this his way of saying sorry – compensation, almost – for all he’d put her through? Would it really be there?
She purposefully skirted Red Lane, the quarry and Dotty’s and all that went with it, and headed towards Breightmet Fold, where she and Adam had dwelled throughout their marriage.
The small farmer’s field adjoining the cluster of homesteads where stood their former cottage looked exactly as it always had. She peered out towards its border and the clump of aged trees. Then she was running again, knew she’d solved the mystery, knew she was right, had to be.
Then there they were.
A smitten couple’s initials from long ago. Before they were wed and the future promised her the world. Before he revealed his true self and everything changed. A.C. and L.T. engraved in the trunk of a broadleaf tree.
They used to go walking around here, her and Adam. They would picnic, just the two of them, would sit beneath the boughs’ canopy, laugh and kiss, discuss their hopes and their wishes for the rest of their lives together. The day she’d accepted his proposal, he’d scrawled the letters in the bark with a small knife from his pocket, cementing their union in nature’s hold for ever. They stood out clearly still, as though they had been put there only yesterday.
Laura traced her fingers over them. She thought of all that had been and all that had gone wrong and shed a tear. Then she stooped and scanned the tree’s base.
She found it in seconds. A tin wedged in a hollow, concealed from the unsuspecting eye by tall grasses. She eased it out of its wooden refuge, put it under her shawl and walked away.
Arriving back in Manchester, Laura headed straight for home. She climbed the stairs and made for the small chest by the window, where she hid the metal box under the folds of clean bedding in a drawer. Then she set off back to the market.
‘Love! Eeh, I were that worried.’ Lizzie hurried from around the stall to greet her. ‘What became of thee? Why did tha rush off so earlier? You sure it ain’t the babby? Nowt’s wrong?’
‘Nowt’s wrong,’ Laura assured her with a quiet smile. ‘I came over a bit poorly sick is all. Fresh air and a lie-down have set me right again.’
‘Tha should have stopped put at the court,’ her friend chided. ‘I’d have managed here.’
‘No need, lass. I’m all right, now.’
‘Well, if you’re sure … there’s a customer over there wants serving … if you’ll see to her whilst I tidy up the stock …?’
That night, as Ebenezer Court slept, Laura lay in bed staring at the chest’s shadowy outline through the darkness. Finally, as the first fingers of new daylight were touching the sky, she rose and padded across the room.
After retracing her steps, she lit the stub of candle on the side table. Then, sitting cross-legged, she opened the tin and tipped its contents on to the counterpane in front of her.
Ten minutes later, she slipped the find back into the drawer with shaking hands.
Thoughts frozen, mind numb, she returned to bed.