The Bobbin Girls (41 page)

James’s fury was such that he could not bear the thought of revealing his feelings to anyone. His desk was littered with papers and plans, he spent hours on the telephone, devoted himself with unflagging energy to his conifer project. There was scarcely a moment when he was not engaged upon the matter in some way or another. It had met with opposition, of course. He was aware of the village campaign against him, led by some girl with a grievance over a silly accident that was not his responsibility. Admittedly she was not alone. There were others: land owners, romantics, the local council, even the vicar, who strongly objected to his plans to afforest open fell land, and in particular to his idea of replacing ancient hardwoods with spruce. James ignored them all, brushing them aside as he would irritating insects.

Nevertheless, when he did finally emerge from self-imposed seclusion, he knew how to turn the scandal surrounding his son to his advantage, how to play for sympathy when the occasion demanded it. Certainly the local council warmed towards him as he politely pointed out that if he could not control the wanton passions of youth, there was little anyone could do to stop him from planting whatever he wished on his own land. He said the old hardwood trees were unsafe and would have to be felled in any case. He promised to replant with mixed woodland, at whatever cost. None of this was true but, foolishly, their pity for him urged them to believe him and they raised no further objections.

But then, unlike Alena, they did not know him for a dishonest man.

He would prove to everyone, through these ambitious, wealth producing schemes, that he was still a man in control of his own destiny, with not a single regret. A man who could surmount scandal and would never tolerate failure. All he had to do was engage the labour and the felling could begin.

Knowing Rob’s abiding interest in trees, James was certain this would bring him back to Ellersgarth and his home. If he could but make a man of him, make him forget the Townsen girl and become the son he had always wanted, as ambitious and single-minded as himself, then it would all have been worthwhile.

His plans made, James felt more able to see the situation as simply a temporary set back, one that could still be overcome. So far as he was aware the couple were not yet wed, despite rumours to the contrary, though they were probably bedded by now. But then they believed he lied. This made him laugh, but only for a moment as he thought of Olivia, the wife who had deserted him. She was the one most to blame for everything. Her difficulties in producing a son, her cold disregard for his needs throughout their married life, and the way she had crossed his every attempt to guide and control the boy ... Now she’d encouraged the lad to pry.

Fortunately, James’s own distrust of his fellow men had served him well over the years, in particular when others before his son had gone down similar avenues. It meant they could discover only blind alleys. Unfortunately, he had not legislated for the more intimate effect of that night’s events upon himself. Effects that had surprised him. Could he have a conscience after all? he wondered, and snorted with derision at the very idea.

He kicked at a log in the fireplace. How he would like to kick Alena Townsen, and all she represented of his own failures and torment, out of his life and that of his son, no matter what the cost. He succeeded only in making sparks spiral up the chimney, and the room light up with their brilliance. It seemed almost prophetic, reminding him yet again of the particular nature of his agony.

Angry with these thoughts, he rose abruptly from his chair and, collecting his hat and stick, went out into the brightness of a summer day and trod the paths of his domain, reminding himself afresh of the tangible evidence of his success.

He came to a small clearing in the woodland close to the back of the house. A wild cherry tree grew here and he frowned ponderously upon a crop of ox-eye daisies that had sprouted defiantly at its root. A shiver ran down his spine. For a moment it was as if the sun had been blotted out and dusk was falling. He felt the cold beat of rain, heard it battering on the cotton canvas sheet, and the wind howling as if with pain through skeletal branches of winter-bare trees. And he smelled yet again the sweet-sour scent of death and damp earth.

What if his son would not come home? All his efforts would then be as dust. For a moment black doubt assailed him as he considered the lost years that he could have spent on the boy, the wasted education that had not resulted in university entrance. Rob’s quiet, passive nature and determination to work with his hands instead of his brain, showed only disdain for his father’s achievements in acquiring property and wealth. James knew exactly what he would be doing now: living the life of a peasant. Thus his bitter disappointment in his son remained. Even so, an as yet unacknowledged admiration for the way Rob was determined to carve out his own future flickered grudgingly to life.

He heard the piercing sweet notes of a blackbird’s song and shook all the doubts and the spectres away. Singing a lover’s song?

He snorted his derision. Love wouldn’t last long. He’d spread the word that no employer in the county who cared for his reputation should consider offering his son a job. Once the pair ran out of money, as they soon would Rob would quickly tire of his foolish rebellion, and of Alena Townsen who’d caused his problems. Perhaps it would have been better to let the relationship run its course years ago. But what did it matter now? So long as no actual ceremony had taken place, then he could hope for victory in the end. All James needed was time and patience, but for all he had these in abundance, he fully intended to play a major role in bringing Rob to heel.

He had built her a house. The kind of house the first men of Cumbria might have built, a style perpetuated by the coppicers and charcoal burners. Rob had found the remains of one on his regular treks through the forest, its circular wall still strong and in place. In the days apart, while he’d waited for Alena to break free from Mickey, he’d built on a chimney, tall and straight, with a fireplace to warm them. A sheet of metal within deflected the flames and heat from the roof, and prevented the fire from becoming too smoky. He’d then cut four long birch poles and set them in the traditional wigwag shape, lashing them together at the top with withies. Further poles had been placed between and the gaps filled with bracken and clay.

Now all they had to do was add a layer of overlapping turfs to the sloping roof to keep out the rain. It took several days of hard work to complete it, but they didn’t mind. It had to be done properly, the sods cut as thin as possible to keep weight to a minimum and then pleated together in such a way that not a drop of water could penetrate.

They sang and chattered as they worked, outdoing the birds in their joyousness. A wood pigeon cooed and once, as they ate the food Lizzie had provided, a hare came and sat watching them quizzically, before bounding off into the undergrowth. Each night they fell asleep exhausted beneath the blankets she’d also insisted on their taking, a sparkling canopy of stars above their heads, the heather soft at their backs.

They lay untouching, side by side, and for all it was hard to resist consummating their love, yet they were both determined that the first time should be special; a magical moment to remember throughout their lives together, not a hasty coupling beneath a hedge. And after a good night’s rest, over a breakfast of oatcakes and tea cooked over a small fire, they talked excitedly of their plans.

‘ I can work as a woodsman making sheep hurdles, gates and such like. Perhaps even try my hand at charcoal burning.’

‘ And I can make besoms and baskets.’

‘ I’ll build you a proper house one day. One to be proud of.’

‘ I’m proud of this one.’

These wonderfully romantic plans and their love sustained them through the hard labour. Alena swept out the fireplace, fashioned hooks and shelves from branches and hung up the pots and pans that Lizzie had provided. Then she collected wood, stacking it beneath a tree close by, and beside the hearth to dry. Lastly she cleared the ground inside the hut and laid down a layer of dry reeds. She expected them to sleep on bracken, as they had when they’d stayed with the coppicers. Rob, however, had other ideas.

‘ We may have caused a scandal that will keep the gossips busy for months, and we may have to wait a while before we can make it legal, but I’ll not take you on rough bracken.’ Alena could only blush at the promise of this anticipated joy.

As the days passed it became harder to resist the strength of their emotions. Sometimes their fingers would brush against each other, or her hair would graze his cheek and he would smell its sweetness. Then he’d catch her hand and pull her to the ground and kiss her. Work would be forgotten during these times of loving discovery as they lay together, perhaps for hours; then they would guiltily dust each other down and return hot and dishevelled, but secretly smiling, to the task in hand.

Rob made the bed out of birch poles, hammering the sharpened corner posts into the ground, building a rectangular frame and lashing the cross-poles to it. Filled with excitement, and the adventure of it all, Alena stitched up one of the sheets Lizzie had packed for them and, together, they risked a two-mile trek to a nearby barn, begged for a little straw from the friendly farmer, then dragged it back, singing and laughing at the tops of their voices, spirits high and hearts full of hope and love.

They laid the mattress on the fine birch bed, together with a pillow Alena had also made. When the bed was finished they covered it with the blankets and couldn’t help but admire it, standing foursquare in the snugness of their hut. Then they smiled shyly at each other.

‘What else is left to do?’ Alena softly asked.

‘Only this.’ Rob nailed some sacking across the door, then lifted her up in his arms and carried her inside.

That first time was a tender coming together. They gave of their love generously and with joyful abandon, at last able to express all the feelings they’d been forced to deny for so long. They kissed until their faces burned, touched and caressed with a sensitivity that left them breathless. And when she finally welcomed him inside her, thrilling to his thrusting need of her, glorying in every tremor of his young body, she lifted herself to him and as one they cried out in their ecstasy.

Afterwards they lay entwined together, the new bed strong and firm beneath them, the mattress soft and yielding, smelling sweetly of the coming summer, and Alena wept in his arms.

Rob was alarmed. ‘What is it? Did I hurt you?’

‘No, no, of course not!’ She hastened to reassure him that it was from happiness that she wept, and when words failed her, she told him with her lips, her fingers, the silky touch of her legs against his and her urgent need for him to love her again.

Closeted in the green dimness of the hut, the bed became their sanctuary. They sat on it to eat their meals, they read to each other from the book of poems that Rob had brought with him. They snuggled up beneath the cosy blankets to make their plans for the future, and on each successive occasion that they made love, it was with an increasing passion. This was their world, safe from the dictates of Rob’s father and the jealous temper of Mickey.

Alena didn’t care if the villagers gossiped about them.

She didn’t care that they had no money, or even that the small supply of food they had brought was running low.

She didn’t care about a better house, or a grander bed.

She had not a single regret. She was quite certain that Mickey would soon find himself another girl, one who would return his love as she could not. And James Hollinthwaite would accept the inevitable, now that he’d been proved a liar. She had Rob, what more could she ask? She was, at last, supremely happy and safe in his arms.

Patience was not something that came easily to Mickey Roscoe. Nevertheless his native cunning served him well.

He couldn’t remember ever feeling so humiliated in his life, and if there was one thing he hated above else, it was to be made a fool of. No one did that to Mickey Roscoe and lived to tell the tale. But he did not intend to make a hasty retaliation. He needed time to think.

He attempted to rationalise matters by telling himself that it might only be a temporary state of affairs. Who knew what might happen in the next few weeks? Rob would certainly find it hard to get other employment, and love would soon wither on the branch if there were nothing to feed it. Summer would pass and they’d grow cold and hungry. How would Rob’s charms appeal then? The excitement would fade and Alena would tire of him.

His own mistake had clearly been that he’d shown her too much respect and hung back too long. A woman should be given no time to think, but be swept off her feet. Though it grieved him to admit it, Mickey acknowledged that Hollinthwaite had been right. He should have made sure of her in the time-honoured way. But it was not too late. So long as she and Rob weren’t actually married, there was still hope. And Mickey was certainly man enough for the job, a better man than the one she’d foolishly chosen and would soon come to regret. Then he could forgive her and take her back, and enjoy reasserting his authority over her.

The important thing was first to find out where, exactly, they were living. And what better way to discover it than by close contact with one of Alena’s best friends?

Once he’d allowed a suitable period of mourning for his lost bride to elapse, he called upon Sandra, standing on the doorstep of her aunt’s house with a woebegone expression that was meant to melt any female heart. He told her that he knew many details concerning Hollinthwaite’s forestry project, and explained how, on those evenings he hadn’t spent with Alena, he’d attended many public meetings, visited pubs and inns, even got himself invited to discussions in private houses, and generally been the eyes and ears of James Hollinthwaite, bringing him the information he needed to further his plans. But now he would be glad to share all of this with her.