The Black Mountains (12 page)

Weeping again, she sent Wally, the eldest of her boys, to see what he could find out. To her relief, he came back with the news that the sheet was not for a shroud but bandages.

“It's only used sheet that will do,” he reported. “Mrs Hall's torn up all her'n already, so the neighbours are chipping in with what they can spare.”

The sense of this escaped Ada, but she thought about it as she went on with her work, and by late afternoon her desire to make amends was almost equal to her fear of facing Charlotte. She went to the bedroom, pulled out the tin trunk where she stored her meagre stock of bed-linen, and chose two sheets. Turned and patched though they were, they were precious to her, but she hesitated for only a moment. If she was unable to replace them and had to spend uncomfortable nights with the rough blanket next to her skin, it was too bad. It would be her own personal hair shirt, and it worried her less than the prospect of delivering the sheets to Charlotte. Momentarily she toyed with the idea of sending Wally or Rosa as carrier, but they had both gone across the fields and would not be home much before dusk. So, taking her courage in both hands, she went round to the Halls' house and knocked on the half-open backdoor.

Charlotte was in the scullery, spreading beef dripping on chunks of bread for tea, but when she saw Ada standing in the doorway, she put down the knife and wiped her hands in her apron.

“Well?” she demanded shortly, glaring at Ada.

The other woman took a hesitant step forward, holding the white bundle towards Charlotte.

“I hear you need sheets, for Amy. I looked these out for you …”

Charlotte straggled with an overwhelming desire to tell Ada to take her sheets and herself as far as possible from Greenslade Terrace, but Ada, shaking yet determined, pushed the sheets into Charlotte's arms.

“Please, Lotty, I want you to have them. I know there's nothing I can do to make amends for what happened in my house, but God strike me dead if I don't regret it with every bone in me body. I tell you, I wouldn't have that lamb hurt for all the world, especially after all your kindness to me.”

Charlotte stiffened. “Kindness?”

“Yes. You've always been good to me, Lotty. There's people around here that have looked down on me because o' what I done all them years ago, when our Rosa was born. Because I married Walter carrying another man's babe, they called me all kinds of dirty names—and they still do. It's not the sort o' thing you can live down hereabouts. But you've never been like that with me. I've never felt you were judging me, or talking about me behind my back, and I've been grateful That's why I'm so upset to think that such a thing as this should happen now …”

Ada paused for breath, drawing a scrawny hand across her mouth, and Charlotte felt the anger instantly desert her. Who was she to blame Ada for Amy's accident? She was just as guilty herself. If she had not been at the Rectory, Amy would not have been next door helping to bath the Clements' baby.

“There's none of us fit to cast the first stone,” she said sharply. “If there's one thing I can't abide, it's gossip, specially when them as do the gossiping are no more than hypocrites. It's my belief there's a skeleton behind most doors if folk were honest enough to admit it—or unlucky enough to get found out. And as for this other business, well, I'll tell you straight, if I'd laid hands on you when Dr Scott was changing our Amy's dressing this morning, there'd have been murder done. But accidents will happen, I suppose.”

“That's right,” Ada said eagerly. “They should have known better than to fool around with a bath of hot water there. One slip …”

And you should have known better than to put it there, Charlotte thought, but to her own surprise she did not say it. What was done was done. Rows and recriminations would not help Amy. The clean white sheets would.

“God bless you, Lotty,” Ada went on, folding her skinny arms around her ribs, trembling now with relief. “And if there's anything I can do—anything at all—just let me know. My kids could do a bit of shopping for you, or I could sit with Amy while you went down to the Rectory, or anything like that. I know you need the money to keep your Jack at school.”

Charlotte drew in her breath sharply. “ I wouldn't leave our Amy with anybody, not even her own brothers,” she said roundly. “ Don't think you're the only one who feels guilty over this, Ada. How do you think
I
feel? But thanks again for the sheets.”

Turning, she went back into the kitchen. Amy was dozing, and Jack was at the table, poring over his aeroplane cuttings, while little Harry sat on the floor catching any pieces that came his way. As she looked at them, her heart came into her mouth and the hopelessness of it all descended on her like a thick black cloud.

Amy was in this state because of her ambition for Jack. But now all that might come to nothing because she could no longer go out and earn the extra money. Perhaps she could manage to make ends meet if she economized even more than usual. But there were still Jack's book to think of, and the expense of sending him on to another school if he passed the Oxford Junior. It wasn't fair to expect the others to go without so that he could have more and more.

For the first time, Charlotte wondered if she had taken on more than she could cope with in falling in with Mr Davies' plans. Perhaps he should leave school and get a job. It would be so much easier for all of them, and she was so tired, so terribly tired …

He looked up and saw her in the doorway.

“Who was that at the door, Mam?”

“Oh, just Mrs Clements with some sheets for Amy.”

He nodded and bent over his cuttings again, his face so serious that it tore at her heart. He'd been in a terrible state over what had happened, blaming himself because he'd been in charge, and he'd hardly left Amy's side since. On top of that, how could she tell him now that he had to leave school and give up everything he'd worked for? She couldn't. She just couldn't.

With a sigh, she put the sheets down on the table and turned away. Worrying would do no good. She'd manage somehow. She'd have to. And maybe if the good Lord was on her side, something would turn up.

TWO DAYS later her determined optimism was rewarded when Mr Archer came knocking on the door.

Jack was out—Charlotte had persuaded him to take Harry and Nipper across the fields—and she had snatched a moment to doze on the settle to make up for the previous night's lack of sleep. The knocking awoke her, and she came to abruptly, wondering for the moment where she was. Then smoothing her hair and apron she hurried to the door.

“Rector, what are you doing here?” she said, surprised to see him.

“I should have come before,” he apologized “ I've been meaning to, but I haven't quite been myself, and I didn't think I could do the hill.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Charlotte said. It was true his breathing was ragged and his colour rather high, but apart from that he looked much as usual. “It's nothing much, I hope?”

“I doubt it, though I must admit the pins and needles I keep getting in my hand can be quite irritating.” He rubbed at his left wrist, then smiled blandly. “That's not why I'm here, though, to talk about myself. I've come to ask after Amy.”

“That's kind of you, Rector,” Charlotte said “ She's been in a bad way, but every day's a step in the right direction. You'd better come in and see her.”

“Yes, of course.” The Rector, never completely relaxed with children, looked less than pleased at the prospect, and Charlotte's eyes narrowed.

“You did come to see Amy? Or was it to find out about me working?”

“Both really,” the Rector confessed. “ Now you're not to think I'm chasing you, Mrs Hall. Nothing could be further from my mind. In fact, I'm sure it will be some long time before you could even think of leaving your daughter, and that's what's been worrying me.”

“Worrying you?” she repeated.

“I know you're somewhat dependent on what you earn from me,” he continued. “But while you are unable to come in and clean, I shall have to find someone else who can, and much as I would like to, I simply cannot afford to pay two wages.”

“I understand that,” she said stiffly. “We'll manage.”

“Mrs Hall,” he said, almost severely. “ Won't you listen to me for a moment? I've been turning the problem over in my mind, and I think I've come up with the answer—the Hardlake Trust. You may not have heard of it, but it is a trust fund set up in memory of one of my predecessors. The idea was that the proceeds should be used to help local children make a start in the world—buy a bag of tools for a boy wanting to become a carpenter, for instance, or a cap, apron and print dress for a girl going into service.”

“When Dolly went into service no one offered to buy her dress,” Charlotte said shortly.

The Rector smiled. “ It has rather fallen into disuse, I'm afraid,” he said gently. “And I can't help feeling it's rather outdated in its concept. It should be extended to help boys like Jack, in my opinion—if there's any money left, and I'm sure there must be. If I speak to the trustees …”

“No!” Charlotte said. “No, thank you, Rector. I've never taken charity yet, and I'm not beginning now.”

The Rector looked at her sadly, still rubbing his left arm, which had begun to ache.

“You came to me for help once before, Mrs Hall,” he said at last. “We didn't call it charity then.”

“And neither was it,” Charlotte told him. “I've worked hard for every penny I've brought home with me.”

“But now you're in no position to work,” the Rector said in a slightly exasperated tone. “You must stay with Amy for as long as she needs you, but you mustn't forget Jack. He's worked as hard as you have this last year. Is it fair to him, or even good sense, to let all that be wasted because of pride? I don't believe God would want that to happen.”

“Wouldn't he? Then why did he let our Amy fall in the tub?” As he opened his mouth to answer, she waved her hand impatiently. “Oh, never mind. What does it matter? What does anything matter but health and strength?”

He looked at her gravely and in his face she caught a glimpse of sincerity beneath his somewhat pompous manner.

“Love matters, Mrs Hall. And a dream, such as you have for Jack. It's important to both of you. You can't give up now. You'd never forgive yourself, and neither would he.”

Charlotte stood staring with sleep-starved eyes at the sweep of blue sky above the wash-houses. Was there a God out there somewhere, a God as unlike the white-bearded father figure portrayed for her in her youth as reality is to dreams? Was there a scheme of things, a master plan, with one infinite deity manipulating it to fit his pattern? Perhaps there was. Certainly during the last few days she had often found herself praying that Amy would be spared. And more than once, when she had felt ready to drop herself, from somewhere had come the strength and the will to carry on.

“Don't turn down my offer out of hand,” the Rector said, interrupting her thoughts. “Sleep on it, and sure you'll see the sense in what I'm saying. The Hardlake Trust is there to be used, after all, and when the trustees know the circumstances …”

She moved abruptly, a sense of danger piercing the tiredness.

“You wouldn't tell them …”

He smiled wryly. “Oh, Mrs Hall, do you really think I would?”

Hot colour flooded her cheeks as she realized he was even more anxious to keep the secret than she was. Of course he would not tell them that his own nephew had gone with the wife of a miner! God forbid!

“It will give me a great deal of satisfaction to feel I have helped the boy get on in the world” the Rector said smoothing over the awkward moment. Then, nodding towards the kitchen; “And I shall pray for Amy, you may be sure of that.”

She nodded. “I wish you would Rector,” she said with a touch of her old dry humour. “He's more likely to listen to you than to me.”

The Rector looked at her, seeing a woman who was handsome still despite the lines that lack of sleep had etched on her face, and whose spirit and determination might sometimes be dimmed by despair, but never quenched. He saw a woman who would fight for her own with every last ounce of her strength, and he was filled with an admiration that momentarily humbled him.

THREE WEEKS LATER, Hillsbridge was buzzing with news of another accident.

“You'll never guess who's dead!” Peggy Yelling said, coming into Charlotte's kitchen.

Charlotte, who was just sponging Amy's face and hands, looked up and smiled briefly.

“Oh, hello, Peg. Who is it then?”

“The Rector!” Peggy told her. “And quite a to-do it's caused too!”

“Oh, my Lord! Was it his heart?” Charlotte asked, remembering the Rector's complaints about his health when he had visited her earlier.

“Oh, it sounds like it.” Peggy bent to restrain Harry from tipping the contents of her bag on to the floor. “But wait till you hear the story. There was a horse and trap stopped up in the hill by Fords the drapers, and one of those newfangled motors came through. You know the noise they make, spluttering away, especially on the hills! Well, it frightened the horse and it ran away.”

Charlotte patted Amy's face dry. “Oh, I say! Blooming motors! But where does the Rector come in?”

“He was down on the pavement outside the Rectory when he heard it coming,” Peggy went on, full of her story. “ From what I hear, he went to try and stop it. But it was too much for his heart. He collapsed, right there in the street. And by the time they got a doctor to him, he was gone.”

“Poor man,” Charlotte said. “ Whatever will his wife do?”

Peggy sniffed loudly. “She'll have to leave the Rectory, of course. But I can't see her leaving Hillsbridge, can you? She enjoys her little bit of power too much. While she's here, she's still the Rector's wife.”