All the dear faces (72 page)

At the last moment Phoebe clung to Annie as though she really could not bear to see her go. About them was the shining wonder of Phoebe's new home and it was hard to picture the state it had once been in when poor Sally Garnett had it in her care.

“
It looks like when me Mam 'ad it," Sally had remarked simply, sighing for her Mam who had once reigned in the kitchen which was now Phoebe's. Charlie and Phoebe had scrubbed and polished and whitewashed the farmhouse, returning it to the warm and comfortable home it had been years ago. A kitchen, a scullery, a tiny parlour and above them a couple of bedrooms. Phoebe had arranged the few pieces of old country furniture Sally had left behind, since they would not fit into the cottage at Binsey, burnishing them to a mirror gleam. The square fireplace in the parlour was set with logs in readiness for her 'callers' and at the window were the newly washed and ironed curtains which would keep out the vicious draughts which were a constant plague on the fells of Lakeland. The dresser in the kitchen was crowded with her brand new crockery and the glowing fire, lit even in August, had a couple of chairs placed before it in which Mr and Mrs Lucas would take their ease of an evening. Of course, 'at ease' to Phoebe would mean rush-light making, knitting, weaving, spinning, darning, for she had never in all her life sat with her hands folded in her lap. There was a basket of kittens purring like a hive of bees, their careless mother still in residence at Browhead, and beside them lay Natty's ancient dog.

“
Eeh lass, ah can't bear ter think o' thi' goin' back ter that empty 'ouse. Will tha' not stay an' ..

“
Phoebe darling, you are a married woman now with a husband to consider," laughing over Phoebe's shoulder at Charlie. "I shall be perfectly all right. Browhead is my home, you know that, and this is yours now. We are only a mile apart and no doubt you will be heartily sick of seeing me come up the hill to visit you."

“
No, eeh no, Annie, tha' must come whenever tha' like, mustn't she, Charlie? Every day if tha' wants to an' ah shall be down first thing ter mek sure that . . ."

“
Phoebe, you will do no such thing. You have a farm to run now, and besides, you musn't exert yourself, not with . . ."

“
Oh, don't talk daft, Annie Abbott. Ah'm as right as a trivet an' if ah want ter run up an' down ter Browhead,
ah will. Ah know thee, lass. Tha'll be eating bread an' cheese or owt else what's 'andy instead o' cookin' summat nourishin' . . ." meaning, of course, that without Phoebe to put a dish of crowdy, or neaps and taties or a decent plate of mutton and vegetable stew in front of her, and with no one but herself to be concerned about, Annie would fade away to nothing before the week was out. Annie was left in no doubt that even from as far as a mile away, Phoebe would still be in complete control of the kitchen at Browhead and whilst Phoebe was on her feet Annie Abbott would want for nothing.

“
Keep her from doing too much, Charlie," she said, as he walked her down towards the gate which led on to the track to Browhead. "It will take her a while to realise that I can manage without her. She has been in charge of me for so long now she cannot help but believe that the moment she takes her eyes off me I will fall apart."

“
And how will you really be, Annie?" He put a hand on her arm, drawing her round to face him and his face was filled with his concern. Yes, it said, I am married to Phoebe. She carries my child and I will love and care for them both with all the power that is in me, but you, you Annie Abbott, brave, honest, humorous, loyal Annie Abbott will always have that special place in my heart. He rested his hands on her shoulders, looking down into her face and she lifted one hand to rest it on his.

“
I shall do very well, Charlie. Now that I know you are settled, I shall do very well. Will it be enough for you, Charlie?"

“
Oh yes, and you?"

“
I will . . . make it enough."

“
I was meaning . . ."

“
I know who you were meaning, but he is married. He is committed elsewhere and I have a commitment of my own. To this farm. To you and Phoebe at Upfell. To us. The three of us will make . . ."

“
I am not speaking of farms, Annie."

“
I know, but I am.
”

There was nothing more to be said. Bending his
tall frame
he placed his lips against hers. A brief kiss, soft and sweet, which said goodbye, at last, to the two people who had been Charlie Lucas and the woman he had loved
.

*

Reed Macauley spent the last hours of 1853 in his bed with a beautiful woman whose very rich husband, twenty or so years older than herself, and no longer able to satisfy her in the ways of the flesh, if indeed he ever had, she confided to Reed, slept the sleep of the very drunk in the suite next door. There had been a ball at the splendid hotel in New York where Reed had kept rooms since he had come to America six months ago. He had danced with the beautiful woman and, briefly attracted to her sleek good looks, her smoothly chignoned black hair, the slumbrous depths of her black eyes and the half-exposed sensuality of her full white breasts, he had been drawn into the net of her undoubted charms, allowing himself to be tempted away from the dancing; out of his clothing; invited to take hers from her and spend himself in the plunging of his man's body into hers, which he had obligingly done
.

She had fallen asleep and, easing his exhausted body from between her twined legs and clinging arms, he moved towards the window, slowly, wearily. As he did so he thought with wry amusement of those days, long gone now, when he could have made love to this . . . this strumpet from dusk to dawn, then, shouting for his boots gone striding out on the fell to examine his flock from dawn to dusk
.

He took a cigar from the box on the table next to the window, lit it, then drew the smoke deeply into his lungs, blowing it out to wisp upwards in the dark stillness of the luxurious room. Lifting the heavy velvet curtain he looked out across the wide and handsome thoroughfare which divided Manhattan Island and which was lined with fine buildings consisting of business houses, public offices and hotels such as this one. Many had façades of white marble, testifying to the prosperity of this young and bustling nation, and it was here in this teeming city, and in others, that Reed had conducted much of his business, to do with
his wool, his mills in Bradford and the many miles of woollen cloth which they produced. He had been a wealthy man when he sailed for America six months ago, even after the generous sum he had settled on his wife and her lover, but he had doubled his fortune since he left England's shores. To get money one needed money, he had often heard his own father say, and it was true for with Edmund Hamilton-Brown's hard-earned brass behind him it seemed he could do no wrong. He had lived the life of an Arabian prince, féted and showered with invitations from America's finest society and in all that time there had not been a moment when he had not longed to go home. Home, of course, did not mean England, or Cumberland, nor even Long Beck but the particular square of earth where Annie Abbott stood
.

His gaze was sombre, his face set in brooding lines as he looked back on the memories he knew full well were best forgotten, for they could only hurt him and had he not suffered enough that he should inflict pain deliberately on himself ? He could see his own naked reflection in the
dark glass of the window and the glowing end of the cigar
as he drew on it. There were vague shadows behind him
and the woman on the bed grunted as she threw herself on her back. He turned to look at her, her long white body draped bonelessly across the tumbled sheets, her hair spilling over its side like a dark and shining waterfall. She was very lovely and so had been the dozens of others with whom he had shared his nights, and many an illicit afternoon, for it seemed the cities of America were filled with wives whose husbands, busy at their desks making another million or so dollars, had not the time to love them. What was this one's name, he mused? studying without the least interest the slender line of her leg, bent at the knee, and the mysterious dark triangle between her thighs. He had known, surely, for she must at some time during the evening have been introduced to him, but he could not for the life of him remember what it was
.

He turned back to the window, considerably
startled when
another face took shape beside his own. A composed and serious face, exquisite in its oval flawlessness, the mouth long and tender, the nose strong and straight, the jaw set at a determined angle, the dark eyebrows finely etched above the eyes. Eyes that were a deep and tawny brown with specks of gold in them; eyes that suddenly narrowed in laughter, the soft mouth stretching over white teeth, the head thrown back with such infectious merriment he felt his own lips begin to tug into a smile and his own laughter to bubble in his chest. The image lifted a hand, pushing back the thick tangle of curls which fell over its brow and with the movement it vanished, becoming what it had always been, the misted reflection of a lamp which stood at the back of the room and which his imagination had transformed into her. She was gone and for a moment the pain was more than he could bear
.

Where was she? he sorrowed, grieving as he had done for so long now, the death of his love. Not his love for her, but for the love she gave to another man. He held it at bay successfully for the most part, for he knew it would seriously embarrass those with whom he did business, those women with whom he danced and laughed and flirted, those he made love to, if they knew of the despair that festered within him. When he was completely alone he gave in to it, putting his face in his hands, holding in the flood of tears which surely were unmanly and which threatened to burst forth and drown him. He would rock back and forth, his mind bursting with all the lovely pictures he had of her, and with those of his future which was empty and stagnant without her in it.

“
Annie," he whispered, his eyes on his own reflection, "Annie .. .
”

. "Reed . . .
”

It was so real he turned about to stare into the dark shadows which, apart from that one lamp by the door, filled the room. His heart thudded, first one great leap which hurt his chest and then raced away so quickly he could hardly breathe.

“
Annie . . . ?"

“
Reed . . ." Dear God, what was happening to him? Was he going mad now? losing his sanity along with his hope and his capacity to take much interest in anything his life had to offer him? He made business deals with half his mind, the other half wondering on how to get through the tedious evening ahead, the long empty night, despite the woman he knew would no doubt share his bed, the next day, week, month. He managed it somehow but if he was to start imagining he could hear her voice speaking his name how could he cope with? . . . perhaps it was her, what's her name on the bed. Perhaps she had spoken to him but when he jerked himself across the room to look down at her she was sleeping with her mouth open emitting tiny snores
.

Then? . . . He swung about, striding back to the window and, quite distinctly, as his gaze followed the slowly moving line of carriages which took the merrymakers away from the ball, though he knew without a shadow of doubt that, apart from the snoring woman on the bed he was completely alone, he felt a hand touch his shoulder, gently, her hand, of course, for who else could reach him over the thousands of miles which separated them?

“
Dear God, Annie ... " he groaned, the agony inside him absolutely more than he could bear and really, why did he not open the bloody window and . . . ?

“
Reed . . . please ...
“

He lifted his bowed head and blindly placed his hands one on either side of the window. He glared madly at his own reflection, ready to drive his fist through the pane of glass but slowly, amazingly, he felt a great sense of peace come over him, dissolving his limbs and releasing his aching body and mind to stillness, a stillness and a resolve which astounded him.

“
All right, Annie." He heard the words, the impossible words come from between his lips but they did not seem at all unusual. "All right, my beloved, I'm coming.
”

Sitting down in the armchair beside the window he fell at once into a deep and dreamless sleep and by her fire at Browhead, where she sat with Dandy in her lap, thedogs at her feet, her face still wet with tears, Annie did the same
.

The next day Reed Macauley booked his passage on the 1100-ton Packet ship Rainbow, commanding a private state room. He sailed two days later, arriving in Liverpool on the eighteenth of January. It was raining so heavily the water was several inches deep on the roadway up to Lime Street Railway Station but he did not notice it in his tranced state
.

He had two hours to wait before his train left and, unable to content himself with pacing the platform, he went across the road to the hotel which had been built to serve the constant stream of travellers who moved through the great seaport, by train and by ship. A brandy would settle him whilst he waited for . . . for whatever was to happen in the next days. A few brandies, in fact, for it would take more than one to calm the emotions which churned so fiercely inside him.

“
Reed Macauley, where in the hell have you been keeping yourself ?" a man's voice asked and somehow, in the strange, confusing, euphoric state he had been in for the past eighteen days he was not at all surprised to find himself in the company of Ezra Hodgson, the man with whom he had done business in the past and who had dined at his table on more than one occasion.

“
I've just arrived from America," he answered, prepared to be polite.

“
I heard you'd gone abroad, Macauley. A business trip, or is your pretty wife with you?" glancing about him conspicuously, though a lady such as Mrs Reed Macauley would hardly be seen in a bar like this. The whole parish of Bassenthwaite had held its collective breath when the news of the death of Reed Macauley's father-in-law had exploded amongst them, and speculation on whether Mrs Macauley would return to Long Beck was rife.

“
No, oh no, she is . . . living in Italy."

“
Her . . . health, perhaps?"

“
No, her lover." Reed grinned wickedly, amazingly, or so Ezra would have said, for it was not something which
would make a man smile, surely? Ezra did not quite know how to continue but he chatted on manfully, drinking the brandy Reed offered him, casting about in his mind for some topic which might stifle the embarrassment he at least felt. There was one, of course, and he grasped it thankfully.

“
Of course, you will not have heard of our particular infamous tidings, will you? Really, you would scarcely credit it. After all the gossip and downright scandal that has been caused you will find it hard to believe, but that fellow, the one who took up with her from Browhead, you know the one I mean? Of course you do. Who doesn't? Well, if he hasn't gone and married . . . no, not Annie Abbott, but her bloody maid. Could you conceive it?" he begged Reed to tell him, "because those in the parish couldn't, though it serves her right, of course, the trollop . . ."

“
I knew it, I knew it!" He was amazed to hear Reed shout in an exultant tone. "She was telling me . . . all those miles . . . Jesus Christ . . .
”

Ezra was even more amazed when Reed Macauley drew back his clenched fist and knocked him to the floor.

“
And don't you let me hear you call my future wife a trollop again or the next time I'll kill you."