All the dear faces (67 page)

Phoebe's light touch on her arm startled her and she turned abruptly.

“
Annie . . ." There was a quiver of fear in Phoebe's voice but Annie smiled reassuringly.

“
It's all right, Phoebe. There is nothing else. And we can do nothing about Charlie. He had to know. You told me that long ago. He had to know I could give him nothing more than my loving friendship. We cannot force him back, dearest Phoebe. He will come if he needs us and in the meanwhile everything will go on just as it always has. Nothing has changed."

“
There is summat, lass." Phoebe's face was troubled. "What is it?"

“
I was keepin' it fer . . . well, when it was needed the most."

“
What?"

“
I know it were none of my business but I thought . . ." "What Phoebe?"

“
Tha'd best come wi' me, 'tis in the . . . well, come wi me an' I'll show thi'."

Chapter
36

She was convinced for several minutes that he was going to kill her, or beat her senseless, or both. She was afraid, but she had been expecting it, and, knowing his strength, his ruthless determination to have what he wanted, and her own frailty against it, she did her best to let his bitter fury blow over her, bending to it, swaying with it so that it should not break her. He had been so certain of her. So convinced that finally she was to be his, not just up on the wild fell where no one could see, but here in his home, his life, where no one could fail to miss it. He wanted it acknowledged that Annie Abbott, who would one day be Annie Macauley, was Reed Macauley's woman, his wife in fact, if not in name.

“
You bitch," he said, his face quite blank and holding her with one hand so that she could not escape him, he hit her twice across the face, his aim so hard and so true she felt the muscles in her neck pull in agony. When he let her go she reeled backwards, striking the wall behind her and out in the kitchen where the servants gathered in avid, breathless anticipation, the blows were clearly heard.

“
Dear Mother of God ... " Mrs Lewis, who was a staunch Catholic, sketched a hasty cross on the bib of her starched white apron. "What's he doing to her?"

“
No more than she deserves," Mrs Stone said tartly. Mrs Stone had answered the door when Annie Abbott knocked on it, the elegant butler employed by Mrs Macauley long gone, and she had been so thunder-struck she had allowed the hussy, trousers an' all, over the threshwood and into the hallway before she could collect her senses and shut the door in her face
.

Annie straightened up slowly, deliberately not putting
her hands to her face though she could feel the swelling coming up about her eye and taste the blood in her mouth.

“
It's him, isn't it?" he said, just as Charlie had done and for a despairing moment she wished the pair of them to the devil, for how much easier her life would have been without men in it.

“
No, he's gone."

“
Gone? Gone where?" Still there was that terrible blankness in his eyes and she was appalled by it but she had come here for a reason and she must keep true to it.

“
I don't know. I told him about you and me, and he . . ."

“
You and me! You have just informed me there is to be no 'you and me', that you have changed your mind again and can no longer face the prospect of living here as my wife . . ."

“
Not your wife, Reed."

“
Please! For the love of God don't let's have that again. It becomes tedious after a while and I find it no longer interests me. If you will ring the bell, my housekeeper will show you out.
”

His manner was insulting. She was no more than an unwelcome caller, it said, not only one who was unwelcome but who had already stayed too long. He could scarcely contain his black, menacing anger and she was terribly aware for her own female frailty. He wanted to hurt her badly and was afraid himself that he might do it, so to prevent it he must get rid of her quickly, his taut, perilous expression told her
.

He brought the flat of his hand down hard on the desk, setting everything on it to jumping, warning her of her danger.

“
Go, Annie, get out. I don't want to see you again, and no, I don't want the money you are offering me for Upfell. It's no longer for sale . . ."

“
Reed . . ."

“
Don't, Annie, I'm warning you . . ."

“
Reed . . . despite this . . . I love you. Can you not find it in you to understand? I don't give a damn about anybody but you. I don't care what they say . . ." indicatingwith a toss of her head those in the kitchen and even beyond to encompass the whole of the parish of Bassenthwaite. "It's me, me, don't you see? I can't live her life . . .
”

He pushed back his chair and strode to the window then back to the fireplace where he took a cigar from a box on the mantelpiece. He lit it with a taper from the fire, then moved again to the window presenting his back to her, keeping his distance, holding in his lethal temper, barely in control of himself.

“
So you have said before."

“
Then may I not . . . will you not come to Browhead . . . ?"

“
Now that he has gone I'm welcome, is that it?" "No . . . yes . . . Reed . . . please . . ."

“
Don't beg, Annie, it doesn't suit you, nor me." "Listen to me, Reed."

“
I've done nothing but listen to you for five years and I've had enough. Either you come here and live with me as my wife, be my wife to all intents and purposes, make a commitment, as I am willing to do, or ... "

“
Yes?" Her voice was a whisper.

“
Don't expect to see me again, Annie.
”

She bowed her head, then lifted it, the savage marks of his hand clearly visible on her white skin. She looked at his back, his stiff lethal jealous back, then turning on her heel, left the room and the house. When she had gone he sat down heavily and stared with empty eyes into the space in front of him where she had stood
.

Phoebe had found the box at the back of a loose stone in the dairy, a box so heavy she could barely lift it. She had been whitewashing the wall, 'going at it' with her usual intransigence, her unyielding determination to stand for no muck or muddle and when her brush would keep spattering her and her floor as it met a resistance of some kind in the smooth pattern of the stones, she put it in the pail and leaned forward to investigate more fully
.

It had taken her no more than a second or two to discover the stone was loose, sticking out a half inch beyond
its neighbours, but when she set about it, as she was wont to do with anything which was perverse enough to defy her, it would not be 'set about' but continued to shift whenever she touched it. In fact it was so loose she could pull it out and when she did she found the box
.

Annie looked at it, standing away somewhat as though it contained a deadly snake which might strike her with its venom when she opened it.

“
'Tis full o'money, Annie." Phoebe's voice was filled with awe. "Ah've never seen such a lot o'money." "Did you . . . count it?
”

Phoebe reared back. "Nay, tis not mine ter count, lass. Wheer d'yer think it come from?"

“
I can't imagine."

“
Are tha' goin' to open it?"

“
I suppose I better had.
”

It was filled to its very brim with coins. Pennies and halfpennies and farthings, no higher value than that, but hundreds and hundreds, thousands of them which when laboriously counted out into neat piles, came to not quite three hundred pounds. There were coins with the head of their own Queen Victoria on them, coins depicting George III, George II and George I, the dates on these last, 1725. At the top of the box was a note. It was written by Lizzie Abbott and dated 1843, two weeks after Annie had fled to Keswick and the arms of Anthony Graham
.

'To my daughter Annie,' it said. 'I found this when I came to Browhead. For all these generations, a hundred years and more, it seems Abbott women have saved their few pence. It weren't mine, but I added a bit when I could, as they did. It's yours now, God bless you, Annie.'

“
Dear God . . . oh, dear Lord . . . Sally said my mother was trying to tell them something just before she died .. . Dear God in Heaven ...
“

She could imagine them, probably five or six generations of them, a chain, each link a thrifty woman putting by for a rainy day which, when it came was got through somehow without touching that precious hoard. A trust, a continuation, carrying on from mother to mother, to the wives oftheir sons, to the daughters of their sons, year in and year out, each one with a man to take care of them, to work for them, to work for. A picture of her mother on her- knees at Sarah Macauley's scrub bucket struck her a blow which left her gasping and she began to weep, to weep for her mother and all those faithful women who had 'put by', who had been comforted by the knowledge that in the tin box at the back of the stone in the dairy was a 'bit put by' just in case. If things got too bad, each one had thought, then it was there so that her family would not starve or go clogless. 'Just in case' and not one of them had used it, nor counted it, nor even realised its value. Pennies, farthings, but which, when added up would begin a new life for Annie Abbott.

“
Oh, Phoebe, women are such brave creatures. Strong and brave, faithful and yet foolish. They stay true to what they have been put to. A man, a child, a life, an idea, never wavering and yet man is supposed to be superior. The women who saved this have gone to bed hungry but not their men, not their children and they were content for they knew it was here in case of desperate need. Dear God, how desperate did my mother have to be before she dipped into this . . . Christ, she worked like a slave and yet this was here to . . .
”

And what would have happened had Joshua Abbott got his hands on it, her mind, her practical woman's mind asked, as the practical minds of all the women who had gone before her, must have asked, eyeing their husbands who, perhaps, would have purchased what they thought was needed without a by-your-leave to the women who had saved it
.

Aah . . . and now it had fallen into the hands of the only one who could, and would, if allowed, act as a man, but with a woman's careful, watchful, brave heart. It was here, in her hand, the means to do all the things she had wanted to do ever since she had come back to Browhead and the irony of it was, though she had the means now, the black, intransigent savagery of Reed Macauley's jealous will would not allow her to achieve her goal. Upfell Farm and
all its livestock, to run beside her own was what she wanted but it was going to waste, its animals carelessly attended to, since they knew of his lack of interest in it, by Reed Macauley's men. The cows milked and the hens fed, the pigs seen to. The ewes were grazing with Reed Macauley's flock and had been serviced last backend by his tup, the lambs born, the clipping done, the flock expanding, but there was profit there going to waste for want of a man, or woman, to market it, for want of a man or woman who CARED about it. The land was lying untended, going to seed with no crops planted. A whole year since Bert Garnett had lost his wits in the beating he received at Reed Macauley's hands and now, in the twisted way life had of laughing behind its hand at human endeavour, it was all to be squandered to a man's pride. There were other farms for sale, she was sure of it, but not in such good heart as Upfell and certainly not as easily and conveniently run.

“
What are thi' ter do, Annie?" Phoebe asked hesitantly, recovering somewhat from the shock of realising that – in her eyes at least – Annie Abbott was rich beyond their wildest dreams. She was not at all sure she liked the idea of having all that money lying about the place but as it had been behind the loose stone in the dairy for 125 years, or so Annie reckoned, and nobody had disturbed it, nor even discovered the hiding place, Phoebe supposed it was safe enough if they put it back there and she said so to Annie
.

But Annie had different ideas for it.

“
No, I'm taking it into Keswick."

“
Keswick? what on earth for?" Phoebe was flabbergasted.

“
Do you know how much this might have earned if it had been properly invested, Phoebe?
”

Phoebe didn't, nor even what Annie meant.

“
You can't just leave money lying about, Phoebe, it should be made to earn.
”

Earn! What next? Really, Phoebe didn't know where Annie got her knowledge from, nor her ideas, though she supposed Mr Lucas, who had been an educated man andwho had talked to Annie by the hour, might have given some of it to her.

“
No, this is going to the bank, Phoebe, and if that bank manager there can't suggest something, then I'll find someone who can and then, when the time is right, at least I will have a decent capital to start off my Swills Industry.
”