Down Weaver's Lane (31 page)

Emmy followed her into the parlour, feeling apprehensive. What was all this about?

Eleanor studied the girl, remembering her from last time. ‘I’ve come to ask you if you’ll look after my sister-in-law again? She needs a new maid.’

Emmy stared at her in dismay, not knowing what to answer. There was nothing she’d like better than to go back to Mrs Tibby - nothing! - but the thought of meeting Marcus Armistead again, of living in the same house as him, terrified her. What if he decided to pay her back for hitting him over the head? What if he captured her again?

Eleanor frowned. ‘I’d have thought you’d have jumped at the chance.’

Mrs Bradley came to put an arm round Emmy. ‘I’ll explain to Mrs Armistead, my dear. Just tell me - if we can sort out that little problem of yours, would you like to work for your old mistress again?’

‘Oh, ma’am, there’s nothing in the world I’d like more.’

‘Wait for us in the kitchen, then.’ When the maid had gone, Prudence turned to her visitor. ‘I don’t know how to explain this tactfully, so please excuse my being blunt. Late last year Emmy caught the attention of your son Marcus.’

‘Ah! No need to explain further.’

Prudence sighed. ‘I’m afraid there is. You see, he arranged to have her kidnapped and she had to hit him over the head before she could escape. She’s now afraid to go anywhere near him.’

Eleanor froze. She knew Marcus was promiscuous, but not that he would stoop to such lengths. She also knew how unhappy Jane was with him. Even in the short time since their marriage, her daughter-in-law seemed to have grown thinner and more nervous. It was hard to believe the worst of your own son, but Eleanor prided herself on facing up to things. After all, her own husband had been unfaithful to her many times, so why should she be surprised that the son took after him? What was there about the Armistead men that they needed so many women? She didn’t think Claude would force an unwilling one into his bed, however, though sadly she did believe that of Marcus.

‘I shall ask my husband to have a word with our son and warn him to stay right away from the girl. But Tibby finds life at Moor Grange lonely, so we’re going to find her a cottage in Northby. Emmy will have no need to see Marcus again.’

‘But will he stay away from her?’

Eleanor smiled grimly. ‘He is dependent upon us for money. If we tell him to do so, he will listen, believe me. And if we find Matilda a cottage in Northby, perhaps you and your husband could also help keep an eye on things? I doubt Marcus would want to be seen in this town being unfaithful to Samuel Rishmore’s daughter.’

‘No, you’re right.’ Prudence had forgotten that.

When Emmy found it was possible to go back to her dear Mrs Tibby, she wept for sheer joy. ‘I can’t believe it!’ she kept saying. ‘I can’t believe how lucky I am!’

‘Eh, it fair warms your heart,’ Cook muttered to Cass, blowing her nose vigorously. ‘It’s about time that lass had some happiness.’ Then she made up for this display of human weakness by being very sharp with everyone for the rest of the day.

 

Mrs Tibby came to call at the Parsonage the following day and Prudence left her and Emmy alone together to chat about their plans. When she came back, she found them both misty-eyed.

‘What am I to do with you, Emmy?’ she teased. ‘Shall I find you another maid, Mrs Oswald, one who doesn’t weep all over you?’

‘Never!’ Tibby reached out to take hold of Emmy’s hand and beam at her kind hostess. ‘And I hope you’ll come and take tea with me once I’m settled in, Mrs Bradley?’

‘It’ll be my pleasure.’ She looked at Emmy. ‘There’s just one other thing: what are we going to do about Hercules?’

Emmy’s face fell.

‘I don’t think he’ll be happy with anyone else. Should you mind, Mrs Oswald, taking a dog as well as a maid?’

Tibby had already been introduced to Emmy’s new friend and although she had been nervous of Hercules at first, had soon realised he was a loving creature. ‘I should be delighted to have him,’ she said at once.

She went home with such a smile on her gentle face that it did the coachman’s heart good to see her, it really did. They all wished Mrs Oswald well in the servants’ hall.

Jane watched surreptitiously through the window, almost groaning in relief as Marcus got into the carriage they hired regularly from the village inn. She was delighted that he would be gone for several days because she was finding his presence more wearing on her nerves than she had expected. If she had realised how very difficult he would be to live with, and how viciously unkind, she would have continued to defy her father about marrying him.

Marcus boasted regularly to her of his other women, comparing her unfavourably to them and taunting her with her inability to produce an heir. It didn’t seem to occur to him that he might be the one at fault because he could not always manage to complete the act - which he also blamed on her. It had occurred to Jane, though, and very forcibly.

She had intended to bring Aggie to live with her but had changed her mind about that, explaining frankly to her old nurse how unkind Marcus was. ‘He’d soon realise he had another way to hurt me by hurting you, and he’d enjoy that very much indeed. He can be - creatively cruel.’

As the carriage vanished into the distance, Jane turned with a sigh to wander through the house which was now wonderfully quiet. The minute Marcus left everything seemed to settle down, as if even the walls sighed with relief to be rid of his presence. By the time he returned she would know whether she had to endure his nightly assaults for a further month. A tear trickled down her face at that thought, but she told herself not to be so stupid. What good would tears do?

She decided to go and visit Aunt Tibby to cheer herself up. She had grown very fond of her husband’s aunt and the walk to the big house would cheer her up. Indeed, going for long walks was her favourite pastime now.

Jane found the old lady in high spirits at the prospect of moving into a cottage of her own and returned home feeling jealous. What would she not give for somewhere like that, a place truly her own where no one would disturb her peace?

That made her draw in her breath suddenly. Would it be so impossible? How much did one need to live simply? She must discuss that with Aunt Tibby on her next visit. There must be a way to escape from here. She knew she could not face a lifetime of Marcus Armistead.

But dare she do it? Leaving her husband would destroy her good name.

Jane smiled wryly at the thought. What did her good name matter when staying with him for the rest of her life would destroy her utterly? She was quite sure of that.

 

As the carriage jolted along towards Manchester, Marcus stared sourly across the fields. He was relieved to be out of that miserable box of a house, where there was only his horse-faced wife to enliven the monotony. He was already sick of being married to a woman who was as much fun as a corpse in bed and big enough to fight him if she didn’t like what he was doing. And he loathed being dependent on his father’s goodwill.

Well, today would see the latter start to change, at least. He was on his way to meet George Duckworth to finalise plans for setting up their little business together. He snickered at the thought. A high-class brothel! George said they would not only make a great deal of money, but Marcus would be able to try out the stock whenever he wanted. Now that would be - interesting.

His father would throw a fit if he knew what Marcus was doing, but he wasn’t going to find out. What was the use in harping on the importance of the Armistead name when he kept his only son perpetually short of money?

Marcus left the carriage at an inn and took a cab for the rest of the journey, not wanting the driver from the livery stables to tattle about where he had gone. The house George had found for them was on the edge of a slum area and not nearly as big as Marcus had expected, but it was only a starting point after all. Even before he knocked the front door opened and his partner stood there grinning at him.

‘Well, Marcus lad, so you’re here at last.’ George wondered if the silly young fool knew how ridiculous he looked in a cloak with two capes and a collar on top of them. The top hat was, of course, the tallest style available. As if that would make a small man look taller. In fact, all this outfit did was make Armistead look as wide as he was high.

‘Fetch my bag in, will you?’ Marcus ran lightly up the steps. ‘And I’m Mr Armistead to you!’

George bit off the words, ‘Fetch it your bloody self!’ and did as he was asked. One day he’d pay back this snivelling rich man’s son for all the petty insults, but not yet. For the moment, Mr Marcus bloody Armistead was going to help George make his dreams come true.

Marcus wandered down the hall, peering into each room. ‘It needs decorating.’

‘Well, a’course it does. I’ll find folk to do that cheap.’

‘I’m not made of money, you know. Be sure you don’t spend foolishly.’

George breathed deeply. ‘We’ll do it on the cheap, I promise you, an’ start off with just a couple of girls. Soon build up to more if you play your part and spread the word among your rich friends. I’ve got one lass interested in working for me already.’

Marcus brightened. ‘You have?’

Talking genially, George took him through to the back.

When Marcus had left he strolled round the house again on his own. Pity Madge had been killed. She’d have been perfect here to help train the young ’uns. And he missed her more than he had expected. She’d always been able to make him laugh. No one else could do that quite like her. If he ever found out who’d murdered her, he’d make them sorry, by hell he would!

 

Jack walked slowly home from the mill, glad the weather was milder and the evenings growing longer. It had been raining earlier, but a fitful sun had now come out and he smiled up at its cheerful light. Not really warm yet, but getting warmer by the week. Once it was summer he would resume his early Sunday scrambles across the moors, however much his mother complained. A man had a right to some pleasures, after all.

It seemed a perfect end to the day that he should meet Emmy on his way back, taking the young dog for a walk. It had grown quickly with good food, but was still clumsy. You could see at a glance, though, that it had a nice nature and was willing to be friends with the world. He smiled as he watched it gambolling along, then his eyes went back to Emmy. Her hair had grown into a fluffy mass of curls around her face and it suited her. She had lost that haunted air which had so worried him and he thought her the loveliest creature he had ever seen. Not artificially lovely like some of the rich women who visited the Rishmores, but with a loveliness that glowed inside her, that needed no fancy clothes to enhance it.

When she saw him, her face brightened and she came hurrying across the street. Jack waited for her but as she stopped beside him he could not think what to say, so patted the dog, using it as an excuse to linger.

‘He’s growing. And you, are you - well?’ he managed.

‘Oh, yes, thank you. Very - um - well.’

Silence hung between them, a silence heavy with all the things he would have liked to say to her and, he hoped, she would have liked to say to him. There was a new self-consciousness in their meetings lately.

She broke it by smiling up at him and saying, ‘I have such good news, Jack! Mrs Tibby is to have a cottage of her own again in Northby and I’m to go back to work for her.’

‘Eh, I’m delighted for you.’

‘And would you believe it? We’re to live in that house on Weavers Lane at the end of Cross Alley - Chad’s Cottage they call it, for some reason, no one knows why. I’ve always liked the look of it, but it’s been lying vacant for months so it needs refurbishing before we can move in.’

How stupid to feel jealous of an old lady! Jack thought, but could not help it. He felt quite overwhelmed by how pretty Emmy was when she was happy like this.

‘I thought I’d have to leave Northby,’ she went on. ‘Well, I
wanted
to go away. But now that’s all changed.’ She lowered her voice to say, ‘Mrs Tibby’s brother is going to tell his son to keep away from me, too, so I shan’t have to worry about
him.
’

‘Good, good.’

‘And Hercules is to come with us because Mrs Bradley says she hasn’t time to look after him and is sure he’ll pine for me. Oh, if only we could move in straight away!’

‘Are you going to Moor Grange to look after Mrs Oswald till then?’

Some of the happiness faded from Emmy’s face. ‘No. Marcus Armistead lives in the nearby village and visits regularly, so Mr Bradley thinks it’s better if I don’t go there.’

‘If that man ever tries to hurt you again, you know you can always come to me for help.’

‘I know.’ She looked up at him, loving the steady way his dark eyes met hers.

‘I wish I could do more for you, Emmy.’