All the dear faces (21 page)

Annie began to scream. At the top of her voice she began to scream and so did Cat for she had been woken from her deep child's sleep to her mother's tenor. Annie took no notice. There was another child whose need for protection was greater than Cat's and the only way she could think of to stop what was going on in this brutish corner, was to make a great deal of noise about it. That, and to kick
.

The first one aimed with all the force of her sturdy, clogged foot behind it caught him high in the middle of his thick white buttocks but the second, now that she had her aim set square landed low between his buttocks, so low her toe fell firmly on his dangling genitals and with a scream to match her own, he fell flat across the child beneath him.

“
Get off her, get off her, you bastard, you low crawling bastard. Get off her or I'll do you so much damage you'll never want a woman again . . . get off her . . . you loathsome .. .
”

It was several minutes before Bert could drag her away from the screaming man and several more before she could calm herself to face the weeping, bedraggled young creature who had been his victim and who cowered like some cornered animal, on her knees in the centre of the curious but sympathetic circle of men who had gathered to see what the commotion was about. Several had put out comforting hands to her for though they were men they were not all beasts, but she would not have it, or them, curling up into herself in crazed pain and tenor
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Annie shoved Cat into Bert's reluctant arms and slowly, soothingly, letting her soft female voice be heard, she sank to her knees beside the girl.

“
It's all right, my lovely . . ." as she would say to Cat when she was hurt. "It's all right now. You're safe now. It's all right. He's gone now. See, stand up with me. I've got you. Put your hand in mine and let me help you up. There. It's all right now, sweetheart. Safe . . . Safe ..
.

You're safe with Annie . . ." and gradually, like some small, terrified, trapped young thing which, though it is freed, cannot get up the courage to run away, the girl stood up huddling against Annie, her arms creeping about Annie's waist, her face hidden, shamed and distraught against Annie's shoulder. She allowed her disarranged clothing to be smoothed down. To have her hair brushed back from her shocked white face, all the while clinging to the only safe, female, being in her tumbling universe.

“
Where are you from, sweeting? Tell Annie. See, there's no one to hurt you now," for the would-be seducer had stumbled off whilst he had the chance.

“
Let me take you to your home. Where do you live? What's your name? Come sweetheart, let me help you . . ." but the girl, deep in shock now, could not or would not answer.

“
Well, tha'll have to leave her here, Annie," Bert said rashly since he was eager to be off to indulge in a bit of seduction of his own, and besides, it was gone eleven o'clock and he'd hung about long enough waiting on Annie Abbott. "She'll find her way home soon enough."

“
Don't talk daft, Bert." Annie's voice was quite matter of fact. "I can't just leave her here."

“
What else can thi' do wi' her, tell me that."

“
Take her home with me."

“
Nay . . ."

“
Don't nay me, Bert Garnett. We don't know where she lives or even her name and until I can get her to talk to me we'll never find out. We can't hang about here waiting, so I'll take-her with me, and if she wants to, she can come back with me tomorrow night."

“
What if her . . ."

“
Stop it, Bert. See, there's a bundle here, probably hers. Pick it up will you and put it in the cart. Cat darling, stop crying and hold mother's hand. No, the girl is not hurt and neither are you so be a good girl . . . yes, sweetheart, I know I frightened you but this girl was even more frightened so I had to help her, didn't I? Good girl, there's my good Cat . . . Now then, let's see if we can get our
new friend to tell us what her name is. What do you think? Katie, perhaps, or Molly .
.

Her name was Phoebe, she whispered to Annie when they were alone in the warm kitchen. Phoebe what? Annie asked but Phoebe didn't know that since no one in the place had told her, she said. She'd always been called Phoebe, just Phoebe. Mrs Pike had left her in the square because she didn't want her to work at the farm any more and the man had taken the three pounds Mrs Pike had given her for her wages and though she'd stood all day with the other women, no one had hired her and she'd been so hungry and didn't know where to go or how to get anything to eat, so when the man said he'd show her, she'd gone with him and then he'd . . . he'd not given her anything to eat but had made her give him her wages and told her she'd to pull her drawers down and when she'd said no, he'd hit her. See, she had the black eye to prove it
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The words flowed from her falteringly. She was small and thin, not very clean and though she could have been older, Annie guessed she was about twelve or thirteen
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With the intuition which came from her own experiences, not of attempted rape, but of the filth with which men could coat a woman whom they thought no better than she should be, fair game in fact, for their insolent tongues and roving hands, Annie had filled the tub in which she and Cat bathed, and after putting her small, half-asleep daughter into their bed, she had coaxed Phoebe to remove her clothing and step into the warm water. There was always some heating, or being kept hot, on the slow-burning peat fire and though Phoebe had hung her head and crossed her arms across her exposed body, she had done as she was bid. Annie had bought soap from a pedlar, parting with some of her precious savings. In the past Lizzie Abbott had made her own, but having no animals or animal fat with which to do so, Annie had no choice but to buy it. It had a smell of lavender about it and taking a cloth and the soap, she gently bathed the girl, watching as, in the soft glow from the fire and the rushlight she had
lit, Phoebe relaxed into the warm, cleansing water, the fear and tension gradually slipping from her.

“
Would you like me to wash your hair?" Annie asked. Phoebe nodded, bending her head obediently to Annie's hands, and when it was dried, it turned out to be as dark and glossy as the coat on Reed Macauley's mare, hanging straight as a ruler to her waist
.

They did not speak a great deal. After the one sudden flow of words from Phoebe, she seemed to have nothing more to say and Annie did not press her. She put her in one of her mother's clean, modest nightgowns, pushed her in with Cat and when she herself fell into bed beside the two of them, they were both sound asleep
.

It was as though she had always been there, so easily did Cat, the two dogs and even Annie herself accept her. No more questions were asked and no more information of Phoebe's past life, which Annie could tell had been hard, was proffered. She was strong and, as her fright receded, cheerful and the hardest worker Annie had ever come across. She seemed to know instinctively what needed doing and without being asked, would do it, labouring from the moment her feet hit the floor first thing in the morning, until she tucked them up, last thing at night, in the little truckle bed Annie herself had slept in as a child. The area under the roof had been divided years ago when Lizzie's children had started to come since Joshua had fully expected at least a dozen, and rooms – two, one for the girls, one for the boys, must be provided for them. From the tiny landing led three bare bedrooms, one of them never used except for storing whatever surplus oats or barley Joshua might have, his hopes of sturdy boys to follow him dashed in bitterness and recrimination against the woman who could not give them to him
.

So Phoebe was moved on her second night, without a word being spoken by either her or Annie, into Annie's old room and when Annie set off to tramp to Keswick and The Packhorse that night, there was no mention of Phoebe going with her. And there was no question in her mind that, thankfully, she was leaving her child in safe hands
.

Later, when Phoebe had become such a part of their life, she was to wonder how she had ever managed without her. Annie had marvelled at her own lack of caution in leaving her precious child with a stranger, a young girl about whom she knew nothing. But it was as though the strong, faithful, loving bond which was to grow between them was forged and tempered on that night Annie took her from beneath the man who had degraded her. He had not – quite – raped her, she told Annie brusquely on the following morning when Cat had run off down the field with Blackie and Bonnie. She said no more than that, shuddering visibly, then, tying up her long hair and binding it with a length of wide cloth, even then as she was always to do for as long as Annie knew her, hiding its beauty from the prying lustful eyes of men, she reached for the wooden bucket, ready to begin a lifetime of devotion and servitude to the woman who had saved her and who was to become the shining light in the world of Phoebe Abbott, as she was to be known
.

Bert Garnett was not best pleased several nights later when he slipped round the back of the farm with a leg of pork from a pig his mother-in-law had slaughtered, and with which he had hoped to seduce Annie Abbott, to find the expressionless face of the girl he had imagined long gone, fixing him with a level and unblinking stare from across Annie's table.

“
What's she doin' here?" he asked truculently.

“
She's staying with Cat and me. As our guest," Annie answered tranquilly.

“
What the devil does that mean?" Bert was always nonplussed by the way Annie spoke, which was perhaps part of the fascination she had for him. She confused him with the way she put things, not at all like the women of her class in her manners or her appearance.

“
She has nowhere to go so she is staying with Cat and me."

“
What for?"

“
Really Bert, do I have to explain everything I do to you? Surely you must realise that Phoebe . . ."

“
Phoebe? What sort of a name's that?
”

In his angry displeasure at finding someone in Annie's company when he had expected to have her to himself, and therefore defenceless, Bert was ready to vent his spleen on anything that came to hand, even the girl's name.

“
Heavens, Bert Garnett. What on earth's got into you?" though of course she knew. "Phoebe . . . well, I can see no reason why she should not make her home with us, if she cares to . . ." smiling at the sudden radiance which lit Phoebe's plain features. "I am glad of her to see to Cat whilst I am working and though I can pay her no wages, and besides would not dream of considering her a servant, more a friend, she would find no better home than here with Cat and me. You have nowhere else to go, have you, Phoebe?" smiling again at the emphatic shaking of the young girl's head, "so the matter is settled. Don't you think it's a good idea, Bert? It works out well for us all. When I have to be away from the farm, Phoebe will be company for Cat, and she has already proved to be a splendid worker. Will you not try one of those biscuits? They are delicious, made by Phoebe only an hour ago .. . No . . . ?" For at the mention of the girl's name, though he had been about to take one, Bert snatched his hand back from the biscuits as though Annie had told him there was poison baked in them
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He stumped off ten minutes later taking his leg of pork with him and though Annie was glad to see the back of him she had the feeling she had made an enemy
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As though to let Annie know that she would never regret giving her a home, Phoebe stood up and busily cleared away the pewter plates and the tankard from which Bert had drunk his ale. She stored away the biscuits in the oak bread cupboard, already becoming familiar with, and revelling in, the layout of Annie's home and where everything was stored. She wiped the table, moving round the kitchen with her cloth, her eyes darting from surface to surface, as though begging for there to be something across which she could lay it. She fetched in another pail of water and arranged to her liking the kindling beneath
the sconce. She rattled the fire dogs and re-arranged the shovel and the poker. The copper kettle was given a brisk polish and the kail pot in which, when better times came, Annie would boil her cuts of meat, a wipe round with her damp cloth
.

Annie watched her surreptitiously, saying nothing, her fingers busy with a pair of stockings she was knitting for Cat. She knew Phoebe needed to do what she was doing. The girl had obviously been treated in her short life —wherever that might have been spent, and which one day Phoebe would surely find the peace to tell her about — as no more than a skivvy with nothing to call her own, no one to call her own and the wonder of being allowed to handle these fine things, as she saw them, of being trusted, of being called 'friend', was almost too much for her to encompass. Scrub she would, scour and polish and mop, wash down and wring out, dig and rake and hoe, cut wood and peat and even her own throat if it would please this woman who had given it all to her. If only she would ask Phoebe to do something, some Herculean task which was well nigh insurmountable, Phoebe would do it, her expression said, but finally, with a long, complete sigh of pure rapture, she sat down opposite Annie and fell fast asleep
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