House of Angels (25 page)

She snatched up her cape and hat, so anxious to put these two painful interviews behind her that she didn’t even trouble to pin the latter in place. Livia had almost reached the porch when she was halted by a familiar booming voice from behind.

‘Are you going to just let her walk away, or behave like a man for once?’

‘Father, please, don’t stir up any more trouble. I came to ask you – to beg you – for help. Both of you. I should have known better. Good day to you.’

But Henry was beside her in a second. He caught her wrist as she reached for the big brass door knob and twisted her round to face him.

‘I
mean
to marry you, Livvy. Stop being so damned obstinate and admit you’ve made a mistake in refusing me.’

‘Let go, Henry, you’re hurting me.’ Livia strove to pull herself from his grasp, very nearly succeeded, but he was so much stronger than her, and filled with a rage born of rejection. ‘I will have you, woman. Damn it, I’ll show you whether or not I have passion.’

The image she would remember in the moment of realisation that he had no intention of allowing her to leave was of her father standing in the hall laughing his head off.

It was a Thursday and Jack was concerned that Livia wasn’t at home, wondering where she might be.

‘She went out hours ago.’ Jessie was equally concerned, and about to serve the evening meal, the usual broth with herb dumplings, this time with a few tasty bits of bacon in it which she’d got cheap on the market.

‘Yes, but where to? Where did she go?’

‘I’m not sure.’ Jessie placed a brimming dish of broth before her son, and his nose twitched with appreciation as he savoured the delicious aroma.

‘Has she gone to her father to ask for a stay of execution on the eviction notice? She hasn’t gone to beg him for money?’ Jack slammed down the spoon he’d only just picked up. ‘I hope she hasn’t been so stupid as to risk seeing him alone? Is she mad?’

Jessie shook her head and shrugged, looking more and more troubled as her son continued to fire questions at her. ‘Don’t ask me; I know nowt. She just wanted to know if I’d found us anywhere else to live yet, and when
I said no, I hadn’t, she became very distressed and—’

Jack was on his feet in a second, his hunger forgotten. ‘Dear God, that confirms it, she has gone to see him.’

‘Calm yerself, lad, I’m not so sure about that. We went on to talk about Hodson, and his penny-pinching ways of doing business. I mentioned that Hodson had dropped his payment by another threepence for that last batch of stockings I made. She was livid, seemed to believe it was because of her that he’s turned nasty, that Hodson is trying to punish her through us. Isn’t he an old flame of Livia’s?’

Jack frowned. ‘Hodson is her father’s choice of husband for her, yes. But she refused, or so she told me. I doubt she’s suffered a change of heart.’

Jessie chuckled at the very idea. ‘Not with the pair of you unable to keep your hands off each other, not unless I’m a pig’s uncle. Nay, it’s this business of the knitting and the weaving that’s got to her. She’s that determined to help it’s more likely she’s gone to give him a piece of her mind. You know how she is, always says what she thinks right up front. She were annoyed he was squeezing yet another few pennies out of us and promised to sort it out, once and for all.’

Jack ran for the door, shouting to his mother to keep his supper warm till he returned. ‘See you save enough for two. I shall bring Livia back with me.’

How she came to be in the conservatory Livia had no idea. Following those last bitter words between them there’d been an undignified tussle in which she’d
desperately attempted to effect an escape. And utterly failed to do so. Had Henry, with her father’s help, really propelled her to the conservatory, her arms pinioned to her sides? Yet here she undoubtedly was, among the potted palms and ornamental ferns, the door locked, her father gone off still laughing, and the pair of them alone once more.

Henry was now in his shirtsleeves, having thrown off his fine frock coat, and had her backed up against a wall. Amazingly, he was attempting to tug her skirt up above her knees.

‘What are you
doing
?’ Livia tried to grab his hand, to stop him, but he was so much stronger than she remembered. She’d never had any trouble controlling him when he was a boy and they were squabbling over who was to ride her bicycle. ‘Stop this nonsense, Henry. At once, do you hear?’

His laughter chilled her. ‘You think I’m such a fool, don’t you? Good old Henry, lead him on, tease him, what does it matter? He’s quite harmless, and so
useful
to have around to fetch and carry.’

Livia cringed at the way he so effectively emulated their tone when she and Ella had been silly young girls. ‘It’s not like that, not any more at any rate. I’m sorry if we were cruel to you when we were young, but we were only
children
.’

‘You promised me,’ he hissed in her ear, and his warm breath, smelling strongly of whisky, made her almost retch. ‘You
promised
you’d wed me, and you
will
, damn it! If you won’t keep your promise voluntarily, I’ll
make
you. You’ll be glad enough of my offer when you find yourself carrying my child.’

Livia gasped. ‘You’re
mad
!’

His eyes glittered dangerously. ‘You’re right, I am. Mad with love for you.’

Before Livia had the chance to frame any sort of reply to this outrageous remark, his mouth crashed down on hers, cutting off her protests, stifling the start of a scream somewhere deep in her throat. His fat fingers were feverishly ripping apart the pearl buttons on her blouse, pawing at her breasts, again searching beneath her skirts, seeking that private, secret part of her, oblivious to her efforts to break free, her squeals and cries begging him to stop.

Dear Lord, she couldn’t believe this was happening to her. This was
Henry
after all, her oldest friend. She’d thought of him as a brother. What on earth did he mean to do to her? Had he quite lost his reason?

Henry’s next words explained all, the icy tone of his voice sending a chill down her spine. ‘This was your father’s idea. “You can have her,” he told me. “Take her any way you choose, willing or not, by force if necessary. You have my permission.”’

And she’d fondly imagined she could make her father feel guilty for what he’d done to Maggie?

Gathering every vestige of her strength, Livia shoved him hard, slapping at him frantically with the flat of both hands. But it was like a fly trying to bat away an elephant. Henry was a big man, growing bigger every day by the look of him. All she succeeded in doing was dislodging
a plant pot that had been balanced precariously on a marble pillar close by. It went crashing to the ground.

‘Don’t think to alert anyone by knocking stuff over, and no point in screaming either.’ He clapped a hand across her mouth, just in case she should try. ‘Most of your father’s servants have either been given their marching orders or left of their own accord. There’s only a daily, and Peggy, who you saw just now, and she’s already left. As for the neighbours, they know better than to interfere with whatever goes on in the house of their new mayor.’

Livia felt sick at the thought, all too aware that he spoke the truth. The house was too big and solid, and the grounds too large for neighbours to hear anything going on, even in the conservatory. There was no one around, save for her father, and he would do nothing to save her. She couldn’t get the sound of his laughter out of her head, or the way he’d helped Henry to drag her away from the door, for all he must have been fully aware of what was about to happen. Yet why should she be surprised by his malice, wasn’t he completely amoral?

Henry seemed to echo that laugh now, and the sound chilled her. ‘Didn’t you once ask if I was capable of passion? Well, I’ll damn well prove to you that I am.’

Pulling her roughly to him, he devoured her mouth in a punishing kiss, raking it with his tongue, nipping at her lips with his sharp teeth as he sucked at her. ‘Is that passionate enough for you?’

If he saw how her eyes begged him to release her, he gave no indication. He was far too absorbed in dealing with the intricacies of her undergarments. When she
fought him, he shoved her back hard against the house wall among the grapevine, which had never yet produced any fruit, only clinging tendrils that clawed at her hair. His breathing grew ragged, grunting alarmingly like a rutting stag in autumn. He ripped her petticoat apart with both hands, then set about her French silk knickers, which Ella had once assured her were very much the coming thing.

Oh, Maggie, how on earth did you cope with a similar violation,
from your own father
?

Livia screamed.

Sadly, he’d been right about the neighbours. No one came running in answer to her cries. Nor did anyone appear when other plant pots went flying as he tumbled her to the ground to finish the job properly. Livia’s fingers scrabbled frantically in the rubble, seeking something substantial to hit him with, anything, a desperation now in her efforts to free herself. But the world might as well have been deaf, blind and dumb for all the good her cries made.

The butler who answered the door at Henry’s house on Serpentine Road was not, at first, particularly helpful. He looked down his nose at Jack and informed him that he had no right to even set foot on their front doorstep, that he should use the servant’s entrance at the back or better still remove himself from the premises altogether. He soon changed his tune, however, once Jack had slammed him up against the door-frame and threatened him with a clenched fist, and had finally admitted that the master
was in fact visiting Mr Josiah at Angel House.

‘You could have saved us both a great deal of time and trouble had you told me that in the first place.’

Jack heard Livia’s cries long before he reached the house. All the lights were blazing in the front drawing room, although one glance through the window as he charged past revealed that it was empty. He couldn’t see Livia anywhere, but he headed for the side of the house, in the direction of those desperate cries, instinct driving him on.

The glass door to the conservatory was locked so he smashed it with his fist to reach for the lock inside and open it. Jack swept aside palms and ferns, trampled a particularly rare orchid, which Livia’s mother had once nurtured, and she had cherished because of that. He broke through the jungle of Edwardian horticulture only to be presented with the sight of Henry’s bare backside mooning before him. And beneath the mound of his gross body, amidst the soil and broken shards of pottery, lay Livia.

Jack didn’t stop to think. He didn’t pause to consider that this was his employer he’d caught in the act of rape. He grabbed hold of his shirt collar and dragged Hodson off. When his fist connected with the flabby jaw there was a crack which resounded satisfyingly loud in the confined space. He followed it with a second, and then a third, and kept on punching and thumping, a red mist forming before his eyes as his temper got the better of him.

Hodson sank to his knees. Caught off guard by the sudden unexpectedness of the attack, and failing to return
a single punch, he begged for mercy. But then a man was hardly in a position to throw decent punches with his trousers around his ankles.

The final blow landed squarely, breaking Hodson’s nose and sending blood spurting everywhere. Henry went down like a felled tree, legs sprawling in a most undignified fashion. Jack wasted no time over him, one glance at Livia cowering among the shards of broken pottery and shredded plants making his heart plummet. She was weeping uncontrollably, desperate little gasps and sobs as he gathered her into his arms, his worst fears confirmed. Had he arrived too late? Hodson must surely have done the deed, slaking his lust on her, as he’d always intended.

Ella had made many changes at Todd Farm. With water now piped to the dairy and the outhouse next door, she designated the latter as the washhouse. Amos, with the help of Tom Mounsey, installed the boiler Ella had also bought at the farm sale, which provided masses of hot water for the washing. It was still rather primitive, a fire needing to be lit beneath it well in advance and kept well stoked with wood, but far better than boiling up shirts and sheets in the old tin pan on the rattencrook hanging over the fire. Ella now insisted that Amos change his shirt every Wednesday, as well as Mondays, and keep a special one for Sundays.

She’d given the walls of the kitchen a fresh coat of limewash, scrubbed out every drawer and cupboard, and set the prettiest pieces of pottery out on the dresser shelves. She even added a display of rowan twigs bright with berries in a blue jug on the table. The whole place looked so much cleaner and tidier, as if someone cared for it at last.

‘I might sew some cushions for the settle.’ She glanced across at her husband, rather anxiously. ‘What do you think, Amos? Would you mind?’

‘Why would I mind?’ he asked, his face as inscrutable as ever.

‘Esther didn’t care for cushions, did she?’

After the smallest pause, he said, ‘It’s not Esther’s kitchen any more, it’s yours.’

Ella felt a small glow of happiness inside at these words.

Mrs Jepson came round regularly and helped Ella to stock the larder with pickles and jams and preserves, bottled plums and damsons, all ready for the coming winter. She even managed to nudge more effort out of Mrs Rackett, by gently bullying the old woman out of her chair now and then to help.

The dairy was scrubbed scrupulously clean every single day, and Ella finally put her foot down over the rats in the barn, which were growing in number. ‘They’ll be infesting the house soon if you don’t do something to get rid of them.’

Amos regarded her in that quiet, thoughtful way of his, the shadow of a smile twitching the corners of his mouth. Then he called in Tom Mounsey with his two terriers, and the rats were duly dealt with in speedy fashion.

Ella had come to love the dale, almost welcomed its quiet solitude, her fear of it quite gone. She no longer felt overawed by the steep slopes of Froswick and Ill Bell, the cold greyness of Rainsborrow Crag or the fickleness
of the weather that would soak her almost dry sheets in seconds. She loved the constant gurgle of water as it rushed in ever widening rivulets down to the River Kent. Nor did she mind the boggy ground that would catch her unawares and suck off her boots, the silent watchful sheep or the dour black cattle. These elements that had once alarmed her now seemed to be a vital part of its wild, magical beauty.

She had her own secret places and would walk out most days either up to the waterfall by the reservoir or down to the packhorse bridge in the hope of spotting salmon swimming upriver to spawn, were it the right time of year. She’d call out to the men toiling at the old quarry workings as she passed by, although was sufficiently mindful of Amos’s feelings not to venture too near. She knew where the badger setts were, could differentiate easily now between a buzzard and an eagle, mistaking neither for a vulture, and liked nothing better than whiling away a happy half hour sitting by the river watching an otter at play.

Ella loved everything about the dale: the yellow lichen that crusted the dry stone walls, the mists that feathered the mountaintops. She loved the way the bracken formed patches of russet amidst the grey jumble of rocks, looking for all the world like splashes of paint from an artist’s palette. The valley was to Ella a place of beauty, a perfect haven of peace and tranquillity.

And she’d also come to love this ready-made family of hers.

Life at Todd Farm was most definitely improving
for the better. If only she could say the same for her marriage.

On this particular afternoon they were down at the riverbank, celebrating Emmett’s eighth birthday. Amos no longer expected Ella to share in his love for fishing, although he considered it much more than simply a sport when it produced a fine plump trout for their tea. He would occasionally ask if she’d like to help by passing him the net.

Today, since this was a special occasion, Ella had brought a picnic and Emmett and Tilda were giggling and having fun as they dabbled in the shallows, hoping to catch a trout with their bare hands. Tickling, they called it. Amos had bought his son a rod for his birthday and had spent the past hour teaching him how to use it. Now he seemed content to let the boy play, a sign of the more relaxed way in which Amos was treating both his wife and his children.

Ella lay back on the grassy bank, smiling at the antics of a red squirrel performing its acrobatic tricks among a cluster of ash and larch. Beth, the Border collie, was flopped beside her, as she so often was these days. The old dog largely left all the chasing about to the younger dogs now, confining her energies to a little gentle chivvying of the sheep, which never seemed to tire her. But when the master was engrossed in some occupation that did not include her, Ella was her first choice of substitute now.

The sky was a rain-washed blue on this lovely autumn day, marred only by a few streaks of white cloud that very much resembled the skeleton of a fish, filling Ella
with a deep contentment. Life was good, on the whole, yet deep in her heart she was aware of a growing ache. She longed for a child of her own, if only her husband could love her enough to help her make one.

Mrs Rackett was dozing, but without opening her eyes she suddenly said, ‘Patience is a double-edged sword. On the one side good enough to blunt pain, but on the other it can cut off the hand that wields it. Sometimes, thee has to grasp the metal and fight for what you want.’

Ella looked up at the old woman, startled. Was she a witch, able to read unspoken thoughts? And what did she mean exactly with this talk of a double-edged sword? It was typical of the sort of rambling nonsense she often spouted, yet there was a certain twisted logic to it. Was Ella being too patient waiting for Amos to make the first move? Should she object to his still stubbornly climbing those stairs to the attic every night? Should she grasp the metal, or was it the nettle, however the proper saying went?

And if she did, would he reject her again, as he had once before? Dare she try one more time, or might she live to regret taking the risk? Ella decided she needed to think a little more about this to be sure it was what she wanted.

Amos caught three fine trout which would provide them with a splendid meal later. Once the fish were properly dealt with and safely stowed away in his basket, Ella spread the cloth and got out the fresh bread she’d baked specially that morning, the cheese and pickles, spicy currant pasties, and the children’s favourite, a
Victoria jam sponge. On this occasion it was smothered with white icing in honour of Emmett’s birthday. She placed eight tiny candles on the top, ready to light when the moment of celebration arrived.

They feasted well, the children happily chatting about school and the favourite meals that their aunt would sometimes make for them during the week.

‘Aunty Molly is very kind but she isn’t as good a cooker as you, Ella.’

‘Cook, not cooker. Though I’m quite certain she is. She has been doing it for years, while I am still learning.’

‘Then you are a very able student,’ Amos said, biting into the crusty bread spread liberally with Ella’s own butter. As always, the rare compliment brought a flush to her cheeks. His mouth lifted slightly into the ghost of a smile, transforming his usually plain face into one that, if not exactly handsome, was filled with kindness and joy. A look that warmed her heart. Then his gaze shifted to linger upon her mouth, before he turned quickly away to cut himself another chunk of cheese. Ella felt suddenly flustered and her heart skipped a beat.

Quite out of the blue, or perhaps as a means of changing the subject, she asked a question that had been on her mind for some time. ‘Why don’t the children go to the little school in the valley, the one down by Kentmere Hall? Wouldn’t it be marvellous to have them home with us all the time?’

‘It’s too far to walk every day,’ Amos grumbled.

‘I wouldn’t mind taking them and bringing them back.
Wouldn’t you like to live at home?’ she asked them, seeing how their little faces had lit up at her suggestion. But they glanced anxiously across at their father, not quite brave enough to agree that they would.

‘And what about when it rains? Look what happened when Tilda got soaked that time. Do you want her to get sick again?’

‘Of course not,’ Ella said, but she could see that he’d made a valid point. She turned the problem over in her head as she nibbled her bread and butter. ‘I don’t suppose we could buy a pony and trap? I could handle one of those so much better than the big farm cart. Wouldn’t that make things easier? Or you could buy us a fell pony each next time there’s an auction. I can ride, you know. Father paid for me to have lessons. That’s something good he did do for me.’ She looked at him hopefully but Amos made no response, just kept on stolidly eating his bread and cheese.

‘If I had a trap, I could take the eggs and cheese into Kendal myself, without troubling Mrs Jessop,’ she mused. ‘Or we could go in together, she and I, taking turns to drive. It really is time I took more responsibility for the marketing, don’t you think, Amos? And I’m sure I’d be perfectly safe, so long as I didn’t go in the heat of the summer when there might be fever about. I know my way around very well, of course, having been brought up there.’

He looked at her, frowning, saying nothing.

‘What do you think?’ Her heart was pounding, wondering if she dared hope.

‘I’ll take you into Kendal again, if that’s what this is all about.’

‘Oh, but you’ve said that before and then something crops up and it gets forgotten. I know you’re busy, but I only had an hour last time. I’ve had a letter from Livia, begging me to come, wanting me to spend longer next time. Oh, and Tilda is in dire need of new boots before winter sets in.’

‘We’ll go in to market next week,’ he suddenly agreed, his lips twitching at the corners again, as if holding back a smile. ‘I was, in any case, thinking of getting you some extra help in the house, and mebbe I’ll take on a hired man.’

‘Really? Oh, that would be wonderful.’ Ella clapped her hands with joy, startled and pleased by his generosity, suddenly filled with excitement at the prospect of a trip into town. ‘How wonderful! Something to look forward to. Now I shall light the candles, and you must blow them all out at once, Emmett, for luck. Oh, you are so good to me, Amos,’ and leaning over the cake, she kissed him soundly. The children laughed out loud with delight.

Livia refused to speak of what had happened, hadn’t even cried, wouldn’t allow herself to show the slightest sign of weakness. She bottled up the pain deep inside, and nothing would persuade her to pick the scab off the sore and examine it. What right did she have to complain, or feel sorry for herself? Her father had done worse to his own daughter, who was now dead because of his brutality and abuse.

Yet despite her brave show and apparent outward calm, Livia was not coping well. She remained deeply shocked by the assault, and felt strangely vulnerable, not at all her usual confident self as she cycled out on her days off. She’d keep nervously glancing back over her shoulder, worried that he might be following her.

Livia had never seen the world as benign, or a particularly safe place, all too aware from her experiences at the hands of a brutish father that you had only to scratch the surface to find evil within. But she’d believed this sort of misery, so far as her own safety was concerned, was largely confined to the tower room in Angel House. Now she saw violence as endemic. It was everywhere, touching everyone. Whom could she trust, if not an old friend like Henry, or even her own darling Jack, who had completely over-reacted?

She was deeply thankful that Henry hadn’t succeeded in committing rape, although it had been a near thing. Her fingers scrabbling through the shards of pottery had finally located a large, heavy pot, which she’d used to hit him over the head. He’d already been half-stunned when Jack had come smashing his way into the conservatory on his mythical white charger to rescue her.

As a consequence of this heroic act, or rather of the beating he’d given his employer, Jack had lost his job at Hodson’s Hosiery factory. It had been the first thing Henry said when he’d come round, all too quickly. Livia had been furious with Jack for that, and she’d turned on him the moment they reached the loft on Fellside.

‘I could have managed perfectly well. There was really
no need for you to come charging in like a bull in a china shop.’

‘There was every need. He was
raping
you for God’s sake!’

Livia was alarmed to find that she was actually shaking, and her teeth were chattering as if with the cold, yet she answered robustly enough. ‘I’d already socked him one with a plant pot.’

‘He could easily have recovered and finished what he’d started.’

‘Nevertheless, you overdid it. There was really no need for you to hit him quite so many times. I cannot abide men who have no control over their temper.’

Livia was thinking of her own father, of all the times while they were growing up that he’d lashed out and hurt his daughters, and the damage he’d caused them to this day. The thought that Jack might prove to have the same problem with his temper sickened her. Livia loathed violence. She feared it, half suspected it might be prevalent in all men by their very nature. She certainly seemed destined to have her life blighted by it.

Unfortunately, Jack didn’t see things in quite the same way, and couldn’t understand why she was angry with him and not Henry. He instantly took offence. ‘Oh, so I should have just stood back and let him assault you, should I?’

‘I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.’

‘It didn’t look that way to me. You should never have gone to see your father, not alone. You should have waited for me to come with you.’