The Mill Girls of Albion Lane (34 page)

Every man, woman, boy and girl put on their coats and walked out under the main archway on to Ghyll Road and stood in silence to watch Billy Robertshaw's funeral procession pass by. The coffin came round the corner from Canal Road inside a glass hearse pulled by two black horses, followed on foot by Billy's solemn-faced mother and sister. Then came Stanley and Winifred Calvert, afforded pride of place after Billy's nearest and dearest – the mill owner dressed in a wide-brimmed black trilby and black overcoat, his daughter in black too, from head to foot – a small hat with a delicate veil covering her eyes, a slim-fitting jacket with a black fur stole and a long, straight skirt. The sombre procession advanced at a slow march with Billy's friends bringing up the rear, everyone walking with hands clasped in front and looking straight ahead towards Calvert's people lining the street.

Hollowed out with grief and with eyes fixed on the flower-strewn coffin, Lily stood at the kerb between Sybil and Annie, all three in tears and only now able to fully comprehend that their old friend was dead and gone.

‘Where was Harry?' Vera asked Elsie as they dried their eyes and went back to their stations. ‘I didn't see him out there watching the funeral procession, did you?'

‘Haven't you heard?' the older woman whispered back, casting a meaningful glance over her shoulder at Lily who followed them up the stairs. ‘The coppers didn't waste any time – they came to Harry's house and took him to the station in a van.'

‘Never!' Vera gasped.

‘Yes, hand on my heart. They moved him sharpish from Canal Road to the remand wing at Armley until the time for the trial comes round.'

‘And when will that be?' Vera wondered. Though she and Harry had only walked out to the flicks a couple of times before they'd both decided it was going nowhere, she had fond memories of her short-term beau and struggled with the idea of him being put in prison.

Elsie shrugged. ‘Soon, I shouldn't wonder. They say it's an open-and-shut case.'

‘Poor Harry,' Vera breathed, casting an anxious look at Lily.

‘Poor Billy, more like,' Elsie argued. ‘At least Harry's still in the land of the living.'

‘Yes, but for how long?' Jennie added her contribution as she laboured past Lily, Vera and Elsie.

‘Hush now. We don't even know if Harry's guilty. All we can do is wait and see.'

On the Saturday after Billy's funeral Lily walked up on to Overcliffe Road to visit the cemetery next to Linton Park.

Billy's grave wasn't hard to find – it was freshly dug, under a copper-beech tree at the far side of the graveyard, with only a dry-stone wall separating it from the sweep of moorland beyond.

Lily read the inscription on the plain stone cross.
Billy Robertshaw. 1909–1932. Safe in the arms of our Lord
. There was a rough mound of heavy, black earth with a wreath of white chrysanthemums on top, the flowers already frost-bitten and shrivelled.

Lily stood for a long time looking at Mabel Robertshaw's floral tribute to her son. Sorrow fixed her to the spot as she failed to find words for a prayer that would meet the occasion. Why wouldn't they come? she wondered, looking up and beyond the grave to the dark brown expanse of heather and rock where snow drifts lingered on the tops and in the shaded valleys. Above her head, the bare branches of the old beech tree creaked in the wind and she didn't notice the approach of Annie and Sybil, quietly threading their way between the graves.

‘Need some company?' Annie murmured as they came to stand beside her.

Lily nodded.

‘We thought you might,' Sybil said. ‘Evie told us where to find you.'

‘Have you said your goodbyes?' Annie asked after she'd let the wind envelop them for a while and she felt it was time to leave Billy in peace.

Another nod from Lily was their signal to depart: the three women turned from the new grave and made their way out of the cemetery to walk arm in arm back to Albion Lane.

‘Tell me to keep my nose out if you like,' Annie said as the wind continued to buffet them and they clutched their hats to their heads, ‘but I was wondering if you'd been to see Harry in Armley.'

‘I haven't,' Lily confessed, trying to stem the tide of emotion that Harry's name evoked. Harry locked in a cell on a landing patrolled by wardens inside a prison built like a medieval castle, surrounded by a twenty-foot wall topped with barbed wire – it didn't bear thinking about. Neither did the idea that he was charged with actual, cold-blooded murder. No, it just wasn't right.

‘Why not?' Annie persisted. ‘It's not hard to arrange – you have to get a visiting order, that's all.'

‘But you might not fancy doing that,' Sybil realized. ‘I wouldn't blame you – not if what they say turns out to be true.'

‘It isn't.' Lily's denial came from deep within. It broke through the defences she'd erected the moment Miss Valentine had told her the news of Billy's death and Harry's arrest – a double blow to her hopes and dreams. The shock had hit her hard and returned her to that lonely, heart-broken state she'd been in after she'd turned down Harry's proposal. ‘Harry told me he didn't do it and I believe him.'

‘Anyway, let's not talk any more about it if you don't want to,' Sybil said quickly.

‘Yes, let's not,' Annie agreed. ‘Shall we think about the sewing jobs we've got lined up instead? The list is as long as my arm.'

‘What do you say we make inroads into that for the rest of the afternoon?' Sybil's view coincided with Annie's – that busy hands would help keep Lily's worst fears at bay. ‘I have to make a jacket out of that brown velour your Evie picked up for me from the remnant shop. Jean Carson wants it finished by Monday, would you believe, and I haven't even cut out the sleeves and collar for it yet.'

So it was agreed that the three of them should return to Albion Lane and sew, before Annie dashed on from there to Robert's house for tea and Sybil spent a quiet evening at home with her mother.

Inside the house, Evie heard their approach and opened the door for them, taking in their pinched faces and windswept hair. ‘I'll put the kettle on,' she offered quickly. ‘You all look like you could do with a cup of tea.'

‘Make it good and strong, love,' Sybil requested, noticing how sad and worried Evie looked. ‘What's up? Where's your little pal today?'

‘If you mean Peggy, she's gone away with her mother to her aunty's house in Hadley,' Evie reported briefly.

‘Quite right too.' Annie saw the point of Peggy and Betty making themselves scarce until after the dust had settled. ‘Well, Evie, if you're at a loose end, why not sew the hem on this dress for Ethel Newby? It's already pinned to the right length. Do you think you can make a neat job of it?'

‘I'm sure I can.' Gladly Evie took the almost finished garment, threaded a needle and started work.

‘It'll need tacking first,' Sybil reminded her as Lily sat at the machine to sew in the sleeves to Elsie's daughter's blue dress. The smocking had worked a treat and Lily hoped both mother and daughter would be pleased.

‘And I'll help you with cutting out the lining for Jean's jacket, since it's a rush job,' Annie told Sybil, and within five minutes all were settled at their tasks. The steady work was only interrupted an hour later by the sounds of movement from upstairs.

‘That's Mother,' Evie said with an anxious glance at Lily.

‘I'd better go up and see what she wants,' Lily decided.

She found her mother sitting on the side of her bed, arms braced against the mattress to steady herself.

‘I thought I might try to get up for a while.' Rhoda sighed and gave Lily a helpless, pathetic look so unlike her old, confident self. ‘But I find I don't have the strength.'

Helping her to raise her legs back on to the bed, Lily consoled her as best she could. ‘Never mind, Mother, I can bring you up a nice cup of tea if you like.'

‘No, no, you sit here with me for a while,' Rhoda decided. ‘Who's downstairs with you, pray tell?'

Lily told her about the cottage industry she, Sybil, Annie and Evie had got going in the kitchen. ‘We've had ever such a lot of orders recently, Mother. I'd never have believed it.'

‘That's grand.' Resting back against her pillow, Rhoda reached for Lily's hand and looked straight at her. ‘I see you're wearing Harry's necklace.'

Automatically Lily's free hand flew to the silver locket as if to protect it from spying eyes. ‘I never take it off,' she replied.

‘Except when you go to bed, I take it?'

‘No, Mother, I keep it on at night, too.'

‘Is there a picture of him inside?'

Reluctantly Lily undid the tiny fastener to take off the necklace then opened the hinge to reveal the head-and-shoulders photograph of Harry in uniform.

Rhoda took it and studied it carefully. ‘He's a handsome lad,' she commented before handing the locket back to Lily. ‘Harry never did what they say he did,' she said after what felt like a very long time. ‘I don't believe it, do you?'

The question took Lily by surprise and started up anew the whirlwind of panicky emotions that recent events had caused, but she gathered herself and gave a truthful answer. ‘No,' she said quietly but firmly.

‘Harry's a good boy.'

‘He is.'

‘He would never run Billy over in cold blood.'

‘That's right, he wouldn't.' Listening to Rhoda as she sat with her in the fading light, Lily's trust in Harry gathered strength.

‘So you'll tell him that?' Rhoda urged. ‘You'll go to see him in prison and say we're behind him every step of the way? He'll want to hear that from you, Lily, and the sooner the better.'

Lily sighed. ‘You're right. I know you are.'

‘Then what's stopping you?'

‘For a start, Harry might not want me to visit him.'

‘Don't be daft – of course he will.'

‘But, Mother, even thinking about the prison makes me shudder. I don't know if I could do any good and if I broke down in tears in front of Harry, I'd only make things worse for him.'

‘You won't, Lily. You're stronger than you think.' Dispelling her daughter's doubts in her no-nonsense way, Rhoda made firm plans for the visit. ‘You can catch the bus to Leeds – that's quicker than the train. Take Harry something nice – a block of soap, a couple of new handkerchiefs. Tell him you'll stand by him.'

‘I already have,' Lily confessed. ‘Before they arrested him – I went round to Raglan Road and promised I'd go on loving him, no matter what.'

‘Then say it again.' Rhoda's voice began to fade and she sighed. A while later she asked, ‘You can tell me to mind my own business, Lily, but I'd like to know – has Harry asked you to marry him?'

Lily's heart lurched and she avoided looking at Rhoda. ‘He has,' she replied, staring down at her hands.

‘And what did you say?'

‘I said I couldn't, not now.'

Rhoda gave an exasperated shake of her head. ‘And that was you, bottling things up and putting others before yourself as usual, was it?'

The sharp question drew Lily's attention back to her mother's face. ‘Surely you of all people can see why not.'

‘That's you all over, Lily – holding back and not saying what you really feel. And it's true there was a time when I would have said, “That's my girl. I'm proud of you for doing your duty.” But not any more, not when all's said and done.'

‘Was I wrong to turn him down, then?' The idea, coming from her mother, astonished Lily and she paused to turn things over in her mind. ‘What about Arthur? What about Margie? How can they manage without me?'

‘They won't be without you,' Rhoda pointed out with another frustrated sigh. ‘You can still lend a helping hand, married or not, especially if you and Harry find a house on Albion Lane or Raglan Road and Arthur can come and go as he pleases.'

Rhoda's surprising opinions came like a bolt from the blue and Lily stared at her in disbelief.

‘Don't look at me like that,' the dying woman said with her old sharpness. ‘I'm only trying to knock some sense into you. And do I need to remind you what I did when I was in your shoes, when Walter went down on one knee at Ada Street and I had my three brothers and your granddad to look after at the time? It didn't stop me from saying yes, did it?'

‘No,' Lily said slowly, with ever-increasing wonder.

‘I upped and got married, packed my bag and moved out, not without thinking long and hard before I did it, though. I asked myself over and over, was I doing wrong by putting myself first? What would the neighbours say if I left my father and three brothers to cope? But in the end, it was my heart that ruled my head.'

‘And you married Father.' The tormented, earthbound birds in Lily's mind's eye flew up into the sky and soared like skylarks. Tears of gratitude filled her eyes.

‘You love Harry, you say?' Rhoda insisted. ‘Well, now's the time to show him how much. This is your chance of happiness and I'm saying you should take it, Lily – take it with both hands – never mind what other people say. You're the only ones that matter – you and Harry.'

‘Mother, are you sure?' Lily managed to ask in a faltering voice. The birds soared and sang high in a cloudless sky.

‘Certain. If Harry's the one for you, don't turn your back on him when he needs you. Give him something to cling on to there in Armley.' Rhoda held Lily's attention with all the passion that remained within her weak frame. ‘Do that one thing and let the rest fall into place. And it will – you can rely on that.'

‘Visitor for prisoner number 327!' a clerk called out in the small, airless waiting room at the prison gate. Lily checked her slip of paper with Harry's number printed on, got up and nervously followed a warder down the steps and across a cobbled walkway into the remand wing. Up a narrow stone staircase they went and along an echoing metal landing with cells to either side. Each cell door had a small, barred window with a metal plate that could be drawn across at night from the outside but during the day it was left open, allowing prisoners to press their faces to the bars and call out as visitors passed by. Stiff with fright and refusing to glance to either left or right, Lily ignored the crude catcalls, tightly gripping the bag containing soap, flannel and comb that she'd brought for Harry.