Pit Bank Wench (43 page)

‘No!’ Eyes suddenly flashing life, Emma rose to her feet. ‘My son has no claim on your brother, he has no right to this house or to anything else. You can tear up any will that says otherwise, we want none of it!’

‘That would not be legal,’ Carver said firmly, though his eyes held a smile. ‘Nothing can be altered except by Paul himself, and that not until he reaches his majority.’

‘That does not mean he has to remain here.’

‘Only the merest twitch of his jaw betraying the blow dealt to him by her words, Carver answered.

‘That is correct. If you have no wish to live here then the property will be looked after until our son is of an age to decide for himself what is to be done both with it, and with the other properties he will inherit from me. Until that time I have made financial arrangements for him and for you.’

If only he could say the words he wanted to say. To tell her he loved her, that it was love as well as pride and jealousy had caused him to keep Paul from marrying her . . . that for the rest of his life he would live with the guilt of raping her and with the hopeless love that had arisen from it. But he could not say those words for she was another man’s wife.

Watching her now, eyes brilliant with anger and accusation, Carver felt his soul reach the very depths of despair.

‘I loved your brother.’ Emotion catching her tongue Emma looked at the man who had destroyed her life. ‘I loved him for his gentle ways, not for his position or his wealth. I did not want his money then and I do not want it now. As for you – I hated you when you raped me, hated you for knowing what you did was done coldly and deliberately, done to prevent my marrying Paul. As for your money . . . you have already paid me, remember!’

Snatching the lining from the pocket of her skirt, she ripped the coin free.

‘One shilling!’ she went on through gritted teeth. ‘One shilling was all you deemed my honour worth. But I set a higher store by it than that, and all the money you possess is not enough to repay me. Keep your conscience money, Mr Felton, I want nothing from you and neither does my son!’

Staring straight into those black eyes, Emma drew back her arm and flung the coin in his face.

‘We could go and still have everything ready to leave on Saturday. Ain’t neither of us got much to pack.’

Daisy glanced at her friend who had hardly smiled in several days. She had not said what had taken place over at that house, but something had, it was plain to see.

‘The boy would enjoy it,’ Daisy went on. ‘His first party and probably the last for a long time. Let him enjoy it while he has the chance for we ain’t likely to have money to spend on parties, not for years. Like Brady and Liam have said, life will be no bed of roses.’

‘Daisy is right, Emma.’ Liam Brogan too watched the pale face shadowed with unhappiness. ‘The lad will enjoy the going and it will be a break for him before we set away for Ireland.’

‘Brady will come and Liam, won’t you Liam?’

Emma had turned away too quickly, turned away even before Daisy’s question. Liam felt his heart quicken, but the worry that gnawed ever deeper with each passing day stayed hidden.

‘I will if that’s what Emma wants.’

‘There you are, Emma,’ Daisy smiled. ‘You ain’t got no more arguments.’

No, she had no more arguments. Emma felt a sinking in her heart. She would take her son to the celebration that would mark the opening of the new canal and come once more face to face with Carver Felton.

‘You don’t have to go if you would rather not.’

Outside the hut Liam turned to her, the fear in his eyes lost in the darkness.

‘And have Daisy go on at me forever more?’ Emma tried to laugh.

‘That’s not what I meant. I’m saying that there’s no need for you to come to Ireland. I would not hold you to a promise that would cause you grief. I love you and want to marry you, but not if your heart isn’t in it. It’s not too late for happiness, Emma, but you have to have the courage to reach out for it.’

‘I am happy. I will be happy with you, Liam.’

Drawing her into his arms, holding her against his chest, Liam Brogan faced the truth, and it was not the one she would have him believe.

‘Can we see the horses now, Mama?’

‘Not today, darling.’ Emma glanced at the boy trotting by her side.

‘But we always see the horses.’

‘I know we do, but they will not be here today.’

‘Do horses not go to parties?’

Looking into the serious little face, Liam laughed then swept the boy up into his arms. ‘Only people go to parties.’

‘Why?’

‘Why?’ Liam threw him up into the air, catching him in strong arms. ‘Why, why, why! Your mother will be sick of that word.’

‘Let’s go and get some lemonade.’ Settling the delighted boy on his shoulders, Liam smiled at Emma. ‘Go and settle yourself under that tree, we’ll bring you a glass.’

‘If you don’t mind, Liam, I’d rather go back. I . . . I’m a little tired.’

‘We’ll all go,’ Daisy answered for them all.

‘No.’ Emma’s smile was weary. ‘I wouldn’t want that, you and Brady stay for the dancing.’

‘Yes, you two stay. Brady’s quite a turn at the jig, ’tis meself has the two left feet.’

‘But . . .’ Daisy looked at Emma.

‘No buts.’ Liam cut short her objection. ‘Sure and can’t a man be trusted to walk his fiancée back to her home?’

Going to stand beneath the tree, listening to its spreading branches protest against the breeze ruffling its leaves, Emma stared in the direction of Doe Bank. She had told herself today she would go back there, to say the goodbyes she had never said. But she had not gone on to Doe Bank. What she had told herself had been merely an excuse, one invented to mask her true reason for coming to Felton Hall. Paul could not miss what he had never known, while she . . . She laughed, a soundless bitter laugh that tore at her soul. What had she gained but more heartbreak?

‘Mama, can we go and find the horses?’

Emma sighed as the boy trotted back to her, his persistent question still ringing out.

‘I know where there might be one.’ Liam came up behind him, holding out a glass of lemonade. ‘In the field beside the flour mill.’

‘Felton Mill? That’s not on our way home.’

‘No.’ Liam drained his own glass. ‘But I don’t mind the detour if you don’t.’

Watching him return the glasses to a table set out a little way from the tree, Emma felt a pang of guilt. Liam was so good to her, so gentle and loving. He deserved every ounce of her love in return, but how was she free to give it?

They had all come, the people of Doe Bank who had survived the typhoid. They had talked to her of her parents, of Carrie and Jerusha. But all the time her eyes had sought a tall figure, his raven hair slashed with silver, all the time her heart had listened for that one voice. But it had not come. Carver Felton had not made an appearance.

‘Let’s sit for a while.’ Liam broke the silence that had wrapped about them after leaving Daisy and Brady. ‘Give the boy a moment to chase butterflies.’

Nodding agreement, Emma sank on to the soft heather. ‘And give yourself time: time to listen to your heart as well as to your mind. Be sure of what you do, Emma. A lifetime is too long to pay for any mistake.’

‘If you mean my marrying you, then I am making no mistake. I know what I am doing.’

But the laugh she forced had no heart in it, its hollowness echoing inside him. Perhaps it was as she said, perhaps his was the mistake, the mistake of thinking her love for him was not the love he yearned for. Yes, his was the mistake. Plucking a sprig of heather he lay back, closing his eyes against the lowering sun. The mistake of shutting out the truth.

It would be all right. On the edge of her thoughts Emma heard the soothing ripple of the mill stream. Once she was gone from Plovers Croft, once she was married and settled in Ireland, she would forget. Forget all that had happened and concentrate on loving her son, on loving Liam.

‘There he is, Mama, there’s the horse!’

The delighted squeal floating back to her, she looked across to where her son had been chasing butterflies. But Paul was no longer there. Her eyes drawn by another squeal of excitement she saw his small figure. It was running straight toward the stream.

‘Paul!’

It was a stricken whisper. Beside her Liam was on his feet. As if caught in some inextricable nightmare, Emma watched her son run with outstretched hands towards the horse on the opposite bank. Somewhere a thousand miles away a voice shouted his name but that would do no good, her son was only yards from the water. Then the horse was moving. One moment it was on the ground, the next it was in the air, its body rising in one great leap that carried it across the stream; and even before it landed its rider had thrown himself from the saddle, at the same time grabbing the child and flinging him in a sideways arc away from danger. Still caught in that world of nightmare, Emma watched the tall figure stumble then miss its footing on the damp moss and fall backwards into the tumbling waters.

Her own scream snapping the invisible bonds that bound her, she ran forward. Her son clinging fearfully to her skirts, she stared at the figure being dragged along by the mill stream.

‘Carver!’ It was a cry every bit as stricken as that which had followed her child. Falling to her knees, Emma reached out across the churning water. ‘Carver . . . no!’

Then as the mill-race caught him, dragging him beneath the great wooden blades of the wheel, she dropped into oblivion.

Chapter Thirty

‘I hope it’s the right thing.’

Moving a little closer to Liam, Daisy lowered her voice, not wanting it to reach Emma who was walking a little ahead beside Brady.

‘I’m sure it is.’ Liam glanced at the young woman he was to marry. Free of the shawl her hair glinted silver-gold in the late-summer sun, her patched skirts lending an air of dignity to her petite figure.

‘She needs to be cared for, looked after,’ Daisy continued.

‘She will be cared for, Daisy, you need have no fear on that score.’

‘That ain’t enough.’ Daisy’s voice still held the concern it had showed when he had told her what had happened at that mill stream. Too much worry and too little rest had finally become too much and Emma had fainted under the strain of seeing her child running into danger. That was how Liam told the story to Emma the following day, but the evening of the occurrence, when Brady and she had returned to find him sitting alone in the long hut, the story had held a different twist.

He had insisted Emma put herself to bed at the same time as the child and then sat waiting for Daisy, to ask her to stay close to Emma for the night. ‘It was quite a shock,’ he had told them, ‘seeing the lad so close to the edge of the water.’

It would be a shock for any woman. Daisy watched her friend, one hand protectively touching the child in Brady’s arms. But she hadn’t fainted then, nor when her son was safe beside her. That hadn’t happened until she saw Carver Felton sucked under the mill wheel.

Glancing up at the man beside her Daisy remembered the look on his face as he had talked. The doubt and the pain had sat like a cloud over his fine features.

‘Emma will be well cared for,’ he repeated softly, as if in response to her thoughts.

‘Being cared for is all well and good, but on its own it’s not enough. People need to be loved, Liam. Emma needs love.’

‘Can you doubt she will have that?’

There was a wealth of emotion in the answer, and it caught at Daisy’s heart. This man had loved Emma from their first meeting, she would never be without love so long as Liam Brogan breathed.

‘Emma will be loved like no other woman.’

‘Do you think she knows that, though, Liam? I mean, really knows that?’

‘I’m sure she does deep down, she’s just afraid to admit it. Afraid to trust.’

‘That be close to the truth.’ Daisy nodded, her brown hair glinting bronze in the sun. ‘Emma has had a hard few years. They would have killed many a lesser woman, what with her family dying the way they did and then the child born out of wedlock.’

‘She will never forget the tragedies of her life, no man would expect her to, but given the right kind of love and support, she will come to terms with them.’

‘She will get that love, you be sure of that, Liam?’

He laughed softly, but it held more sadness than humour. ‘You are quite a Doubting Thomas, Daisy Tully! But you have no need of being.’

‘Perhaps not.’ She glanced again at the woman in front of them. ‘But I worries just the same. Worries in case we be doing the wrong thing. Maybe we should have stayed on at Plovers Croft a bit longer?’

‘I don’t think so.’ Liam stepped to the side of the road, allowing a cart to rumble past. ‘We all knew there had to be an end to our life there, best to leave when we did.’

Daisy walked on in silence. Like Liam said, perhaps it was for the best. But Ireland was a long way from Wednesbury, and life there promised to be just as hard. She gripped the handle of the basket she had packed with food. Love was one thing, but it didn’t feed a family!

Following the Lea Brook Road beneath the viaduct, the child cried out as a train rattled overhead. Seeing him stretch up his arms to his mother, Liam strode forward, but as Paul cried fretfully, Emma smiled.

‘I will take him, Liam, it’s not far now. The station is just at the end of the next street.’

But the street was a long one and the child weighing heavy in her arms, Emma was relieved when at last they turned into the station.

The platform was empty. She walked its length, boots echoing on the wooden staging. Towards the far end, sheltered by a wooden canopy supported on fluted iron pillars, was a solitary bench.

She was about to settle down on it when Liam touched her elbow. Smiling first at the child now sleeping in her arms, then at her, he said gently, ‘Should you not take the lad into the waiting room? You could lay him on the seat in there. ‘Twould be more restful for you both.’