Calico Road (38 page)

When he reached his own wall he slowed down, his heart still pounding, and forced himself to look behind. Sweat was chilling on his face now as a light wind began to whine softly round him. There was definitely something moving in the shadows, so he scrambled over the wall and ran for the house, moaning under his breath.

Beardsworth could keep his sodding money! Cully wasn’t going near the back part of the inn again, not even in daytime.

As the running footsteps faded the owl returned to its perch where it made a hearty meal of a plump field mouse it’d plucked from the rough grass on the sloping upper edge of the clough. The sheep, which had been disturbed by the man’s yelling, settled down again to sleep.

But Cully slept hardly at all, jerking awake, listening, worrying that something or somebody was hunting him. And what would Mortley and Beardsworth do to him for failing? Those buggers down the hill were vicious brutes, as everyone knew.

When dawn began to lighten the sky he got up, decision taken. As he was creeping out of the bedroom he shared with his wife and children, Sairey asked in a sleepy voice if it was time to get up. He told her in a savage whisper to shut up and go back to bloody sleep. In the kitchen he got the embers burning up and gathered together a few possessions by the light of the fire, all the time listening in case his wife woke up.

As he opened the outer door he suddenly remembered the donkey. How could he have forgotten that? Why, he could drive down to one of the nearby towns, sell the animal and the cart, and that would give him some money to add to his savings for a new start. Not as much as if he’d killed Fletcher, but enough. What was there to keep him up here? Nothing. Only a wife who nagged him, children who ate him out of house and home, and boggarts that chased after him.

He’d never made a decent living since those damned mills started weaving cloth, taking away honest men’s livelihoods. He should have left Calico years ago.

He put the pouch of money in his pocket, then as he was leading the donkey out of the lean-to stable, his wife appeared in front of him.

‘What are you doing, Cully?’

‘Going to market.’

‘It isn’t Market Day.’

‘Going to do a little business over in Tod, then. What’s it to you?’

‘You took your spare clothes from the box and a few other things too.’

In the grey dawnlight she had such a stubborn look on her face that he yelled, ‘Shut up and get out of my way!’ He gave her a shove, but although she staggered sideways, she came back to stand in his way.

‘You’re leaving us, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, I am, you stupid bitch.’

‘But you can’t. How shall the children and I manage?’

‘I don’t care how you manage. I’ve had enough of you and those squalling brats.’

‘Then you shouldn’t have put another in my belly, should you?’

‘
What!
’ Fury swelled within him. ‘You’re lying! You can’t be having another already.’

‘I am. You never let me alone. The children are more your fault than mine. You don’t think I enjoy you doing that to me, do you? But I won’t let you go and leave us to be put in the poorhouse. I won’t!’ She ran round him to the back of the cart and started throwing his things off it.

Fury turned into a red rage and the only thing he knew was that he wasn’t going to let her or anyone else stop him. When the red haze faded, Cully stepped back, took a few deep shuddering breaths and stared down at her still body on the ground. Cursing, he reloaded his things and yelled, ‘It’s no use pretending to be knocked out! You tried that trick on me afore an’ I fell for it. This time you’re
not
going to stop me leaving!’

He finished harnessing the donkey and looked across at Sal, surprised that she was still lying there in the rain. She couldn’t be . . . no, of course not. He’d only given her a tap or two. No, she’d played this trick afore, and what a good actress she had proved to be then, frightening him into doing as she wished. He clicked his tongue to the animal to start walking, looked back once and saw she still hadn’t moved.
Oh, no!
he thought.
You’re not catching me like that again, missus!

As he went past the Packhorse Cully made a rude hand gesture in its direction. Once it had disappeared behind him he began to cheer up. Sal would be back in the cottage by now, weeping. He was sick of her weeping. Sick of skriking kids, too.

Even the rain which started mid-morning didn’t dampen his good spirits, for he was free at last, could go where he wanted, wasn’t letting any woman trap him again.

From the window of the back bedroom she used every month Harriet watched the trio of new child apprentices walk wearily into the mill yard behind a stern-looking man. Her heart went out to them, for they’d find no comfort here. The oldest still had a hint of spirit showing in the way she stood and stared back at those who’d brought her here.

When Mortley strode out to inspect them he soon found an excuse to slap that girl about the head and Harriet clamped one hand to her mouth to hold back a moan of sympathy. If she tried to intervene, she’d make things worse for the poor child. Oh, the man was a brute!

She heard her husband come in for his mid-day meal and with a sigh went down to join him, feeling her pulse quicken with fear as Andrew gave her one of his scornful looks.

‘Well?’ he asked.

She had to tell him. ‘I’ve started my courses.’

‘You’re taking the potion?’

‘Yes. Every day.’

‘We’ll give it three months,’ he decided.

She bowed her head and tried to eat, but couldn’t force much down, feeling quite sick with relief that she was not to be beaten again.

‘You’ve moved into the back bedroom?’ he asked.

‘Yes, Andrew.’

‘Good, because I’ve a new maid starting this afternoon and she’ll have other duties beside the cleaning.
Special duties
.’

His leer told her what these duties would be and Harriet had to dig her fingernails into the palms of her hands to prevent a protest escaping her. She was horrified that he would insult her in this way, shamed to the core because everyone in the district would soon know about it.

When the new maid arrived she proved to be a plump young creature who said she was fifteen and hadn’t worked as a maid before. Nor, Harriet soon found out, did the girl understand the ways of respectable households like this one. She could guess where Andrew had found Prissy. Even the cook shared one glance of dismay with her mistress before she took a deep breath and said woodenly that she’d better start Prissy’s training.

That night the sounds coming from Andrew’s bedroom were loud enough to keep Harriet awake until the small hours. She smiled, happy not to be the object of his attentions. If this happened the following night, she’d have no trouble getting away.

And she’d kill herself if they caught her and tried to bring her back, would take a sharp knife with her ’specially for that purpose.

A person could only take so much pain and humiliation.

Meg heard a sound at the door and opened it to find Sairey standing there, her face dirty, her hair a tangled mess. ‘Do you want something to eat, love?’

But the child said nothing, just began to weep.

‘Shhh now, what is it?’

The weeping continued. Meg hadn’t willingly touched a child since Nelly died, and hesitated even now. But Sairey’s distress was so overwhelming that she had to take her in her arms, filthy though the girl was. She carried her into the house place and sat down at the table with Sairey on her lap.

The child burrowed against her and gradually stopped weeping. ‘Mammy’s lying out in the rain and she won’t talk to me. She won’t move.’ She knuckled her eyes and volunteered a further piece of information. ‘She’s all wet.’

Meg exchanged startled glances with Phoebe, who had stood quietly at the other side of the room watching them.

‘An’ the baby won’t stop crying, neither. We’re all hungry.’

Meg stood up, setting the child gently on her feet and smoothing the tangled hair from her eyes. ‘I’d better go home with her, Phoebe, and find out what’s wrong. Sal may have had an accident and be hurt.’ Or Cully might have knocked her unconscious. She wouldn’t put anything past him.

Phoebe nodded, moved across the room to thrust a piece of bread into Sairey’s hand then went back to work, shaking her head. What next? That Cully had a lot to answer for.

As they walked along the road, Sairey gobbled down the bread, not looking where she was going. When she fell over she didn’t cry, just stuffed the last of the crust into her mouth, muddied though it was, and got up again, brushing some dirt off her face with the back of one hand.

‘Is your mammy groaning?’ Meg asked.

‘No. She’s looking up at the sky. She won’t say nothing.’

Startled by this, Meg began to walk faster. Surely the woman wasn’t dead? When Sairey lagged behind, she took the child’s hand and fairly dragged her along.

The cottage seemed to be sagging against the rain-soaked ground. The smell from the pig sty was disgusting and the door of the lean-to shed was banging to and fro in the wind.

‘Where’s your mammy?’

Sairey pulled Meg round to the other side of the shed and she gasped as she saw Sal lying there. There was no doubting that the woman was dead and had been for an hour or two, because not only were her clothes soaked and her hair plastered to her skull, but her pale face was bloody and bruised on one side from a massive blow. Remembering Ben and how he’d died, Meg couldn’t move or speak for a moment.

Sairey knelt down to shake her mother’s shoulder and call, ‘Mammy! Wake up, Mammy.’

Somehow Meg found the strength to pull the girl away. There was no helping the woman but there were children to be cared for. ‘Where’s your dad, love?’

‘Gone away. In the cart.’

‘Where are the other children?’

‘In the house.’

There were three others, all younger than Sairey. The baby was crawling around in the filth of the kitchen floor, howling dolefully and getting perilously close to the open fire.

‘Dear heaven!’ Meg whispered. ‘What’s to be done with them all?’

‘They’re hungry,’ Sairey said with that hopeful look on her face.

‘Don’t let the baby burn itself.’

Sairey hauled the baby towards her by the stained and tattered shirt which was all it was wearing and sat down on a stool, picking it up and shushing it.

All the children were thin and filthy, their clothes little more than rags. It was no use leaving them here so Meg searched the two-roomed cottage, found a few clothes and pulled them on to the scrawny little bodies. Then she took the matted grey blankets from the beds and wrapped them round the chidren’s shoulders against the chill rain still teeming down outside.

‘Give me the baby and hold your sister’s hand. We’ll all go back to the inn and have something to eat, eh?’

Her face brightening, Sairey took a firm hold of her next sister and Meg held the baby in one arm so that it could look over her shoulder while taking the hand of the child who could just totter along.

Toby was coming out of the stables when he saw them approaching. He was amazed to see Meg, who’d avoided children ever since she arrived here, surrounded by them. Cully Dean’s children, too. Poor dirty little brats! He took a step forward, then ran towards her because from the expression on her face something was very wrong.

‘What is it, Meg?’

‘I’ll tell you in a minute, Toby. Can you pick the little one up? She’s not a very good walker yet.’

He scooped up the child, gestured to Sairey and her next sister to start moving, then fell into place beside Meg.

With his help they made better progress, entering the house place by the side door and startling Phoebe into an exclamation.

The three little girls clustered together, looking from one adult to the other as if they expected someone to thump them. Meg joggled the baby boy up and down, shushing it, but it kept grizzling. ‘Can you keep an eye on these four for a minute, Phoebe? I have to tell Toby something.’

She handed the baby to Phoebe, took him aside and quickly explained what she’d found.

‘Sal’s dead?’ He was so stunned by this he couldn’t for a moment think what else to say or do. Then he shook his head and said, ‘I’d better go and fetch help. Can you see to the children?’

‘Yes.’ Meg went to whisper the news to Phoebe who looked at her in horror, then beckoned the three little girls nearer the fire.

‘We’ll feed them while Toby fetches the Curate,’ Phoebe decided. ‘The babby will probably be able to eat some pobbies and I dare say the others will enjoy them too. I’ll get some milk heating at once and you cut bread into small squares, Meg love. We’ll put in some honey. It’s comforting, honey is. Eh, the poor motherless lambs! To think of such a thing happening in our village.’

The two women sat the children down at the table and watched them gobble down the contents of the bowls, picking them up to drain the last of the warm milk, impatient of the spoon. Neither woman had the heart to scold them for this.

Meanwhile Toby ran up the clough, clambered over the stone wall and found the dead woman. He didn’t stay long. There was nothing he could do for poor Sal and he’d better leave her where she was.

He went on to see the Curate.

Mr Pickerling gaped at the news, then reached for his overcoat. ‘I’ll come with you.’

At the inn there was a shout from the public room and Meg looked in to find Ross standing there smiling.

‘I’m going down the hill, love. Do you need owt from the shop?’

She moved closer to him, looking over her shoulder to make sure none of the children was within hearing distance. ‘I found Sal Dean lying dead outside their shed a short time ago. Cully’s disappeared. Phoebe and I are looking after the children. Toby’s gone to fetch the Curate.’