A Time Like No Other (43 page)

Together they had inspected the woodland where the children played on fine days, with Dora in charge, of course, and found the floor beneath the trees an azure carpet of massed bluebells. It fair took your breath away. Talk about early, but what a glorious picture they made beneath the branches and round the trunks of the budding oak trees. As they stepped through their delicate loveliness, careful of where they put their heavy boots, he remarked sadly to Froglet that he’d best get the master to give them some extra help or they’d be at sixes and sevens for the rest of the gardening year. Then he and Froglet would exchange glances, for the mistress was master of this estate and had been for the last five months or so and any orders to be given came from her. And hadn’t she enough to contend with without them plaguing her? Not only was she doing her best to run Mr Harry’s mills with the help of that gentleman she employed, which was not the same as Mr Harry, was it, she was getting heavy with the babby. And that there tragedy up at the mill hadn’t helped, neither.

They all admired what she was trying to do. Them lads, along with Mrs Harper’s Jack and the strange little scrap Mrs Harper had rescued from the mill, were settled in to what was called the schoolroom next to the nursery. Never too young to start learning their letters, their governess had been heard to say. The whole top floor of the Priory was now made over to the children and their needs, and Mrs Harper and her Jack still had their own private room. With the governess the bairns called Philly, they scampered outside on every fine day across the lawn, down to the lake, across the park ending up, as always, over at the paddock where the horses sauntered over to greet them and take the apples Dora had in her basket. Mrs Harper’s lad, Jack, at eighteen months got into all sorts of mischief but then so did they all except the one they called Boy who clung to the hand of either Dora or Miss Philly. Mrs Sinclair’s little lass who would be in her perambulator, Caterina, called Cat by everyone, was doted on by Dora who had turned out to be a champion nursemaid, while Master Jamie and Master Alec, with the boy, learned their ABCs with Miss Philly and good luck to her they all said for those lads were . . . well, what you might call spirited without a pa to discipline them. Mrs Harper, when she first came to the Priory, had given them a good start, the servants heard, and now they were on their way to being clever lads like their pa.

They had pause to reflect that Mr Sinclair was not really their pa though they called him Father and that Master Chris, God rest him, their real father, had not been endowed with a sharp brain but he’d been a lovely lad, ready for a laugh or a chat with any of them. No side to him at all. Perhaps his sons had inherited their brightness from their ma, for she had certainly picked up the rudiments of worsted manufacturing and was hanging on to her husband’s business by the skin of her teeth, helped by those chaps she had employed, not to mention Mrs Harper before her accident. Eeh, said Barty to Froglet as they bent over their task, what a to-do-ment life was. Froglet, not always sure what Barty meant, saying what he did right out of the blue, nodded amiably.

The pair of them were in the kitchen garden sowing cabbage seeds of the quick-hearted sort which would be ready for harvesting in July when the door opened and their mistress stepped out. She raised her pretty face to the sun which shone in spring-like warmth from a cloudless blue sky and smiled with pleasure. Her dark hair gleamed with a touch of chestnut in its depths and her rounded cheeks were flushed and smooth as a child’s. A voice from the back of her admonished her not to go far and where was her bonnet, but she set off towards the gate that led to the paddock.

‘You off to feed them ’orses, Miss Lally?’ Barty called out to her.

‘I am, Barty. You know how they love their apples,’ indicating the basket on her arm. She had on a light woollen cloak under which could be seen the gleam of silk the colour of bluebells.

‘Well, don’t you go too fast, ma’m,’ Barty answered with the familiarity of an old and trusted retainer. He smiled a warning. ‘And don’t go too far neither, now think on.’

‘I won’t, Barty.’

‘’Ow’s the new lass gerrin’ on wi’ them bairns? Governess, is it?’

‘Oh yes, she’s got them sitting at their books at the schoolroom table then she and Dora will take them for their walk. Well, I must be off or it will be dark before I get to the paddock.’

They watched her for a moment or two until she had crossed the yard and, opening the gate, disappeared in the direction of the paddock.

The animals all plodded over to her, pushing and shoving against one another to get to the juicy apples she held out to them, slobbering greedily, then following her as she moved along the fence line. What a wonderful day it was. The sun was warm on her bare head and though she had a dozen things to do, going over papers that she had brought from the mill office, she felt a great need to remain for a precious moment in the peace of the outdoors. Perhaps a short walk towards the greening of the woods. It was quite safe now that the Weavers had vanished and it would be grand to empty her head of accounts, figures, profits, yardage for a blessed half-hour.

Sighing with pleasure, she began to saunter along the narrow path that cut right through the wood, enjoying the freedom and the soft warmth of the sun. She was in an ancient oak wood, the enormous trunks of the trees standing in a glorious sea of bluebells. Since Barty and Froglet had inspected it the wild flowers had become even more thickly spread and Lally could not help but stop and gloat over the beauty of it all. She threw back the folds of her cloak to compare the colour of her gown with the bluebells, smiling, for they were the same shade. A shaft of dappled sunlight fell on her hair and touched the silk of her skirt but Lally saw no more as a rough bag made from sacking came down over her head and strong arms lifted her from her feet.

The Weaver brothers had wintered quite comfortably in their concealed cave deep in the wood. Even the smoke from their fire, had it been seen, would have gone unremarked, since Barty, Froglet and Mr Cameron, the steward, often burned old wood and fallen leaves as the forest was cleared. Not all the leaves, naturally, since as the trees shed them they were needed, as they rotted, to feed and enrich the ground and the plants that grew there.

The brothers were clever with traps and fishing lines and never went hungry. The elder, the one with the more cunning, sometimes slipped to one of the many villages away from the area, where they were not known, to buy tobacco, bread, tea, stuff they could not glean from the woods that they roamed. They poached on Lord Billington’s estate and fished his trout stream, avoiding his gamekeepers, slipping like shadows through the dense undergrowth, and to make a few bob they sold what they caught to butchers and fishmongers in different villages. A haunch of venison, rabbits, grouse in season, trout or anything they could not eat themselves. They had lived on the Priory estate all their lives and were reluctant to leave what was familiar but one day they would be forced to, for this life they led and the need for concealment could not go unnoticed for ever. But the main reason they stayed, at least in Jed’s mind, must be completed first.

Today it seemed it was. Lally was as still as an animal caught in an open glade by a predator. She was so paralysed with terror, not only for herself but for the child in her womb, she made no sound. When she was placed on her feet and the hood removed she backed away from the men as far as she could until her shoulder blades pressed against the wall at the back of the cave and vaguely wondered why, if they wanted to keep her in ignorance of who they were, they had removed the hood. She was not to know that Jed, despite the danger to himself and his brother, needed to see the fear in her eyes, the dread on her face and so threw all caution to the wind. Her face was like putty and her eyes, enormous in her face, were wide and unfocused. Tears poured from them and dripped from her chin to her cloak. The two men were dirty, unshaven, their beards reaching across their broad chests and their wild, uncombed hair fell below their shoulders, but she knew them at once.

The two men stared at her transfixed. She was a lovely woman, even in her present state, and Jed Weaver had not had a woman for a long time. His hatred of the Sinclairs who had turned his family off the land that had supported them for years was deep and ferocious. When they had had their way with this one there’d be such a hue and cry he and Ham would at last be forced to flee and he’d never see his home again. These woods on which he and his brother had lived so freely, so easily, would be finished for them. But on the other hand they had managed to outwit gamekeepers and stewards for years now and even if they had to run for it they could always come back. It was a risk, for she had seen their faces but he told himself she was so petrified with fear she’d not remember.

‘Oh bugger it,’ he cried to his brother, ‘us’ve waited a long time fer this.’ He moved purposefully towards the cowering woman in the dark at the back of the cave. She slapped at his hands as they reached for her and began to scream like a hare caught in a trap but with an oath he clenched his fist and hit her on the chin, rendering her senseless. She fell limply into his arms and he liked it.

‘Come on, lad,’ he said thickly to Ham as he began to strip her of her cloak and the lovely blue silk dress, tearing them from her flaccid body, but Ham seemed, at the last moment, to be strangely reluctant. Jed had her down to her pretty lace bodice and drawers, both articles of clothing fine and clinging and it was then Ham spoke.

‘Eeh, our Jed, lass is ’avin’ a bairn. Us can’t—’

‘Gie over! What’s that got ter do wi’ owt?’ Jed was ready to tear the undergarments from her but it seemed Ham, always backward, always the follower of his brother, had something in him his brother lacked. He took hold of Jed’s arm and did his best to pull him away from the semi-conscious woman whose rounded belly proclaimed her condition.

‘’Ere, what’s up wi’ yer?’ Jed snarled as Ham tugged at his arm.

‘Yer can’t, our Jed. She’s ’avin’ a babby. Yer can’t . . .’

‘Don’t be ser daft. She’ll never know’t difference then.’

‘No, I say, Jed. Leave ’er be. Babby . . .’

‘Bugger babby. I’m ’avin’ a go an’ so are you. It’s what us always wanted.’

‘No, Jed, I say no.’ Ham, the bigger and stronger of the two, began to pull his cleverer brother away from Lally, forcing him to leave go of her. She fell at once to the floor of the cave and lay still but Jed, ferocious in his lust and fury, turned on his brother, grunting like a wild animal, aiming a blow at his brother’s face.

‘Leave off, our Ham,’ he yelled, swaying in his need to get away to his prey but Ham, reluctant to hurt him, pushed him instead. Jed lost his balance, falling clumsily, his arms flailing, and as he went down his head hit one of the stones that encircled the fire. There was a horrid crack and at once blood began to flow across the rocky floor. Ham sank to his knees, crying his brother’s name, dragging his body into his arms, cradling him against his chest. The woman on the ground was forgotten.

They did not miss her for two hours, each member of the household getting on with whatever they were meant to be doing and each thinking she was with someone else. It was a Sunday and it wasn’t until the carriage drew up at the front steps and the smiling face of Susan appeared at the window that they realised that their mistress was not here to greet her as she was brought home from hospital. Carly jumped down from his seat, opening the door to Mr Elliott who had gone to fetch her from the infirmary, and who lifted her carefully through the open door of the carriage, her splinted legs sticking out straight before her, and placed her in the long wheelchair that Doctor John had ordered for her. It had an extension at the front so that she was able to stretch out her injured legs and rest her badly bruised back against the padded seat.

They were all there to greet her, even the children, for she held a very special place in the household. Jack was shy, as he had not seen his mother since the day of the explosion, not awfully sure he cared to see her in what he thought of as a perambulator. He stuck his thumb in his mouth and hung back but the others, Jamie, Alec and Cat, who was held in Dora’s arms, shouted and clamoured to greet her. Boy, barely recognisable as the draggled child who had been pulled out of the devastated mill, moved towards her, his face creased in a tentative smile. He was dressed in one of Jamie’s outfits, for though he was obviously older than Lally’s elder son, he was very small, emaciated, rickety. He had put on some weight with the good food Biddy stuffed down him and was clean, his hair, which had proved to be blond and curly, rioting about his small head. A handsome lad whom they all did their best to bring out of his withdrawn shell.

He moved slowly towards Susan and with a simple gesture took her hand, then stroked her face. For a moment there was silence and they all wanted to weep but Susan drew him into her arms and held him for a moment, a lovely, emotional moment, and at once all the children, including Jack, were all over her. Who did he think he was, this boy who had been thrust on them? This was
their
Susan who had been in an accident but Adam was having none of it. ‘That’s enough,’ he roared. ‘Susan is . . . has hurt her legs and you must be very gentle with her. She will be glad of a . . . a kiss . . . and a hug but one at a time and
gently
.’

At once they stood back respectfully while Adam and Carly carried the wheelchair up the steps and into the hall. A silent stream of sympathisers followed her. Biddy, Jenny, Clara, Tansy and even Dulcie who was the lowest of the low in the kitchen, and at the bottom of the steps, watching her go up, were Barty and Froglet who called out their good wishes since Mrs Harper was a heroine in their eyes. At the kitchen door Wilf and Evan, Caleb and Ben waited for news and on the stairs, leaving his patient for a moment, was Martin.