Shining Threads (68 page)

‘Give ’em ’ere. I’ll put ’em in’t boiler but them’s the last. Tha’ll ’ave ter spread squares o’ linen under ’im until them
on’t line’s dry. We can’t keep up wi’ ’em, lass, an’ ’e don’t know.’

And it was true. With every hour which passed Will had sunk deeper and deeper into a frightening state of insensibility. His face was grey, just bare, protruding bones and deep hollows. His
cracked lips parted as he dragged in a morsel of air and his breathing barely raised his chest. He no longer muttered or roamed restlessly over the bed. He no longer sweated or vomited. It was as
though every drop of moisture his body contained had been wrung out of him. His flesh had gone, melting away like the wax on a candle.

Tessa knelt beside him, watching his face as she had watched it for almost twelve hours, ever since she and Annie and Thomas had manhandled him up Annie’s narrow staircase and on to this
bed. Only twelve hours and in that time he had lost shape and form and colour with an incredible speed. Even this morning when she had first seen him at the temporary hospital he had still been
Will, recognisable, and though ill and delirious a man she would know as the man she loved. Now the face on the pillow could have belonged to anyone. He appeared a skeletal stranger with a grey,
mottled face, at first glance already dead, with closed sunken eyes and a ghastly slitted mouth, dry and cracked, which no woman in her right mind would dream of kissing. Even the hair on the
apparition looked dead and grey, dusty where the salty sweat had dried on it.

And yet there was something left of Will, something that was just the same. Resting on the dry, cold cheek beneath the closed eyes lay the long and silky lashes she had often teased him about, a
soft brown, fine, like those of a sleeping child. In her anguish at the thought that they would never raise again she showered passionate kisses on the wrecked, almost inhuman face of Will
Broadbent.

‘Will, stay . . . don’t leave me,’ she whispered. ‘I cannot manage without you, Will.’ The pain overwhelmed her. She had loved him since before she was seventeen;
she knew that now. In the nine years which had passed they had lost one another for a while due to her own foolish yearning for something which did not really exist. But for almost three years they
had been lovers again in the truest sense of the word. She had bathed in his love, blossomed and grown in it, becoming the complete and loving woman she knew herself to be. Will, strong and lusty,
sweet-tempered, good-humoured. Will, unique and irreplaceable. As she watched the disease consume him, dry him out to no more than a husk, the full devastation of what his loss would mean to her
struck her a mortal blow from which she knew she would never recover. Robby had been taken from her in the most agonising way but the anguish she had known then had been nothing to what she
experienced now.

She could not bear to lose him. She could not face a world without that special blend of gentleness and vitality he gave her. His ardour warmed her female body and his good-humoured wisdom
cooled her wild and impulsive nature. His lively, incisive mind sharpened hers. He was positive, daring and filled with his own invincibility and she whimsically into hers that she could rely on
him while he had breath in his body. Though he had laughed at the girl she was, spoken sharply, roughly, she had known instinctively that he was concerned for her, and that concern, compassion and
understanding had shaped her, brought her to this moment of true and selfless love. She loved him beyond any love she had ever known. She always would.

She wanted to pray, if only she could find the words; to ask some God in whom she scarce believed not to take Will from her, and not just from her but from the world which would be the poorer
without him. She wanted to, she even tried to as her tears fell on to his beloved face. But as the sun sank in the fiery furnace of the sky below the high line of the moorland and Annie moved
quietly to light the candle, her tears dried up, and the words of hopeless prayer dried up.

‘I won’t let him die, Annie.’ Her voice was like a splinter of ice. ‘Dammit, I won’t let him. Dear God, does he not know how much I love him?’

‘’Appen ’e don’t, lass.’ Annie’s shadow was huge on the wall of the bedroom, moving slowly as she approached the bed.

Tessa turned to her, startled. Her own face had hollowed during the day, with deep purple fingerprints pressed beneath her eyes. She was bathed in perspiration for despite the open window the
room was hot and airless and she knew she smelled sourly.

‘What d’you mean? Of course he knows.’

‘’E’ saw thi and thy ’usband a day or so since . . .’

‘Drew . . . ?’

‘Thi were up on’t tops, ’e said, ridin’ together like thi’ ’adn’t a care in t’world. Laughin’, just like tha used to, you an’ Master
Drew, so wrapped up in one another tha didna see ’im pass thi by.’

‘No . . . oh, no, Annie. No, you know that’s not true.’

‘’E only knows what ’e saw, lass, an’ it took the spirit from ’im. ’E must’ve ’ad the fever on ’im then.’

‘No, I can’t bear it.’ She put her arms about him, lifting his heavy, lolling head from the pillow, cradling his face against her breast, rocking backwards and forwards in a
frenzy of dry-eyed grief. Dear God, she had only gone with Drew to ease his wretchedness, to reassure him that despite her obligations at the mill and to the people who depended on the Greenwood
family, he was still fixed deeply and irrevocably in her heart, that she loved him and always would. He was all that was left of the bright childhood he and Pearce and herself had shared. He was in
her care and she would never desert him.

Even for Will!

‘Will, oh, Will, my dearest love, how can I tell you what you mean to me? You are the first breath I draw each morning and my last thought at night before I sleep. I awake with you and lie
down to sleep with you in my heart. I cannot bear to think of the pain I have caused you and the pain which I know I could bring you in the future, but please, please, my darling, stay with me.
Love me, keep me in the safety and shelter of your love . . .’

Her anguish was almost more than Annie could bear but she stood, transfixed by the love and suffering of Tessa Greenwood, unable to leave her friend to endure that suffering alone. And yet it
seemed to be an intrusion to watch it, a violation of the privacy which was a sacred thing to Annie.

But still she stood, and waited.

‘Will . . . Will, listen to me . . .’ Tessa bent her head and her tears flowed again, soaking into Will’s lifeless hair, washing across his forehead and thick eyebrows, from
her eyes to his, dewing his eyelashes. His cheek was turned to her breast, resting there in the peaceful attitude of a sleeping child, and neither woman saw the flicker of his eyelids as the tears
of the woman who loved him bathed and soothed their dryness.

‘Please, Will, don’t let me lose you again . . . I love you so much. My need is more than I can withstand . . . without you I am useless.’ Her voice was broken and desperate.
‘There is no one but you in my heart . . . only you . . .’ And she buried her face in his hair and held him to her as she rocked in desolate mourning.

She felt him move then, a mere stirring of his head, a tremor, but when she looked down disbelievingly into his face, his eyes, no more than dark slits, were open and aware. They were wet with
tears, whether her own or his it did not matter. Her cry of joy raised Annie’s bent head and when she saw the light in Will Broadbent’s eyes she turned away and was torn by loud and
painful weeping.

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‘Don’t tha think tha should go ’ome, lass? Will’s mekkin’ good progress an’ tha knows I’ll look after ’im as well as tha
does.’

‘I can’t, Annie. I simply can’t bear to leave him. Not just yet. I nearly lost him, Annie, do you realise? I nearly lost him for good and I must just stay another day, or two
perhaps, to make certain he really is on the mend. My . . . husband is not yet home, Thomas says . . .’ Her manner was defiant as though daring Annie to remark on it. ‘Just another day
or two, Annie.’

‘Nay, tis nowt’ ter me, Tessa. Tha mun stay as long as tha pleases, tha knows that, but d’yer not think folk’ll begin ter notice where Mrs Drew Greenwood ’as bin
fer the last four days? Tha knows ’ow they talk.’

‘Let them. Do you think I care what others say? They have always gossiped about me and my family so I am well used to it. Besides, you’re so busy at the mill and with the Poor Law
Guardians. You know Mrs Poynton and Mrs Bayly are excellent ladies with the best intentions in the world but they don’t know, as you do, what is needed and from what I read in that newspaper
you brought home, things are only going to get worse. That committee really needs you, Annie. Local resources will not be able to provide for the mass of destitution which is coming. The American
war is not going to end soon, as we had hoped, and relief committees will be desperately needed. So go, Annie, and let me have these few days with Will. As soon as he is able to get down the stairs
I’ll go home. Now show me again what I must put into that broth and then be off with you.’

It was still hot and sultry and Will had thrown back the sheet from his shrunken body when Tessa carried in the tray of delicacies she and Annie had prepared to bring his strength back. There
was a bowl of steaming broth made with shin of beef and a cool egg custard with cream whipped into it. Annie had mixed up a potion of arrowroot rhubarb and honey to prevent any further onset of the
debilitating diarrhea which had drained the life from him, and linseed tea to defend the lining membrane of his stomach. Cinnamon water and syrup of poppies – all mixtures to bind to him the
nourishing food which, he complained weakly, Tessa shoveled down his throat whenever he opened his mouth: veal broth, chicken broth, rice, bread pudding. Already the colour was returning to his
pallid skin and the brightness to his clear brown eyes. They watched Tessa as she placed the tray upon the small pot-cupboard which stood beside the bed, following her when she moved to the window
and pushed it open further in an attempt to allow in a breath of fresh air.

She was dressed in a plain cotton skirt and bodice of Annie’s and her heavy hair was tied up in an old cotton duster from which slipping tendrils escaped to lie on her white neck. The
dress was too small for she was taller than Annie and fuller in the breast. The buttons on the bodice strained to contain her swelling flesh and her nipples were blatantly outlined against the
fabric.

‘You look like a country lass, sweetheart, especially in bare feet. Where are your boots?’

‘I’ve stopped wearing them in this heat. Besides, they don’t quite match my outfit.’ She smiled as she moved back to the bed, fussing with the sheet, pulling it up about
his naked body, but he pushed her hand away weakly.

‘Leave it, lass. I know it’s not heavy but even that weight is too much for me and I’m so hot.’

‘Well, get some of Annie’s broth inside you and you’ll soon get your strength back. No, lie back and allow me to feed you, if you please. Look at you. No more than a bit of old
stick and a hank of hair.’

‘Give me a day or two, Tessa Harrison, and I’ll show you a bit of strength, in fact if you were to lean this way a little more and I was to undo one or two of those buttons . . .
See, already my power is returning . . . look . . . My God, woman, you could return a man from the dead. Look at me . . .’ And indeed his manhood which nestled unobtrusively in the dark curls
of his pubic hair was stirring, albeit gently.

‘Will Broadbent, you old devil, and here I am waiting on you hand and foot, giving you bed baths . . .’

‘And lovely they are, my darling. In fact I think I will continue to employ you for that purpose when I return home . . .’

‘. . . running here and there at your bidding . . .’

‘Is that so? Then I bid you get into this bed with me. Take off that fetching costume and lie beside me.’

‘Well, really, Will Broadbent, I do believe this illness of yours has been a sham. I think you have been deceiving me and I can only assume it was to get me into your bed . . .’

‘Get in and I’ll show you how ill I am.’ But though he lifted his arms to her and his eyes glowed with his love he had not the strength to continue and fell back on the pillow,
a slight sheen of sweat coating his body.

‘The spirit is willing, is it not, my darling?’ she whispered as she leaned over him. She kissed him tenderly, stroking his thin face with gentle hands, his throat and chest, her
love for him shining like a bright candle in the dim bedroom. ‘But you must be patient. Eat this broth and custard and then sleep. Another few days, my lusty lover, and then you and I will
busy ourselves with such things as you have never even imagined.’ She continued to kiss him, her mouth sweet and moist, her tongue parting his lips. He groaned in delight and despair.

‘You’re a wicked woman, Tessa Harrison, a wicked woman. You tell me to be patient and not to become aroused by all the abundant flesh which is erupting out of that . . . that thing
you have on, and then you kiss me like a wanton and suggest all kinds of delights to come. You have the most beautiful breasts, d’you know that? Of course you do or you would not be
displaying them to me. Oh, Tessa, Tessa, soon, my love, soon.’ He grinned audaciously, his eyes telling her exactly what he would do to her soon. ‘But in the meanwhile give me some of
that bloody custard.’

They continued their delightful and loving diversion for another hour, lovers, enhanced with this feast of the love which they had almost lost. It had become infinitely more precious because of
that danger and though Will was still weak, they were unwilling to part to allow him the restful sleep he needed to regain his strength. Tessa was content to do no more than sit beside him, to
watch him sleep, to hold his hand when he awoke, to laugh softly and whisper the bewitching nonsense which lovers cherish and which she sensed was so important to him now. She could not forget what
Annie had told her and though she knew she could not discard her obligation to Drew nor go back to erase the pain she had caused Will on that day on the moors, she was aware that she must treat him
and his love for her with infinite care. He was made vulnerable, not just by his illness but by the threat to him inherent in her care and love for her husband. She must protect, shelter and
support him until he had regained his full vigour again, as he had always sustained her.