The Stony Path (30 page)

Frederick’s eyes narrowed. In the past he had congratulated himself on the fact that it was Polly who was the elder daughter – her intelligence and beauty would reflect on him among his social peers once she was his wife – but recent events had persuaded him otherwise. Ruth, had she been older, would have been much more realistic and appreciative of the advantages of such a match; she had more than a little of her mother in her, did Ruth.

A knock at the study door interrupted his musing, and he turned as Betsy opened it and, popping her head round, said quickly, ‘It’s Miss Polly, master, an’ she’s soaked through an’ as cold as clay. I’ve put her in the sittin’ room an’ lit the fire.’

‘Miss Polly?’
And then, as he stared into his housekeeper’s round bright eyes, Frederick took hold of himself, saying quietly, ‘Thank you, Betsy. Tell Miss Polly I’ll be along shortly, and see about some refreshments, would you.’

It was a full minute more before Frederick left the study, and when he opened the door to the sitting room it was to see Polly ensconced in front of a now roaring fire with a thick fleecy blanket draped about her shoulders. Her rich brown hair was curling about her face in tiny tendrils and her magnificent eyes were wide as she rose to her feet. She looked young and delicate, her slender body enveloped in the cream coverlet, but he knew her apparent vulnerability was an illusion – the last months had taught him that her fragile exterior covered a will of steel.

Polly’s stomach muscles had tightened when she had seen Frederick standing there, but her manner was quiet and contained as she faced him. ‘I’m sorry to come so unexpectedly,’ she said quickly. ‘I hope I haven’t interrupted anything important.’

‘Of course not.’ Frederick smiled as he strode forward and took her hands, which were still icy cold. ‘I would like to think this is a call in answer to the repeated invitations I’ve made over the last months, but I suspect something is amiss.’

Polly felt herself flushing. He knew full well she couldn’t afford time on social calls, and the intonation of his voice had aimed to make her feel guilty. She heard her voice, sounding to her own ears tight and defensive, saying, ‘Yes, something is amiss. The rain has brought the ceilings down at home.’

He was staring down at her and he did not say, as one would have expected in the circumstances, ‘Is anyone hurt? Is everyone all right?’ but, ‘I am not surprised. The farmhouse is in a severe state of disrepair. You must realise that?’

‘Yes, of course I realise that.’

It was clear from his deep breath and the stiffening of his face that he did not like her tone, but he continued to hold her hands in his own as he said, ‘The whole roof needs replacing and all the window frames are rotten, and that is just the start of it. Too much has been left for too long.’

‘My father and my grandfather did what they could.’

‘I’m sure they did.’

Their glances held for some seconds before Polly said, ‘Grandda ... Grandda needs to be looked after properly.’ He waited, his gaze concentrated on her face. ‘I wondered, if we put the farm up for sale, how much money would be left after we had paid our debts?’

Frederick felt a quickening in his body but he strove to hide his excitement as he said, ‘Very little, if anything at all. The farmhouse itself is a liability as it is, and forty acres is not a great deal of land, as you know.’

‘So you virtually own the farm now?’

Frederick was taken aback, albeit slightly, by the forthright question. He let go of Polly’s hands and turned away, aware he had to choose his words carefully, but before he could do so Polly said quietly, ‘The farmhouse is almost uninhabitable as it is, certainly in the winter, and Grandda’s medicine is expensive.’

‘Aye, I know.’ He was facing her again, and now he took her hands in his once more, shaking them slightly as he said, ‘But your grandda doesn’t have to live there, none of you do. You must know how I feel about you, Polly. I want nothing more than to make you happy, and if you would consent to be my wife it would make me the happiest man on earth.’

It was not in Polly’s nature to play the coquette, and Frederick was again flummoxed by her straightforwardness when she answered quickly, ‘But I don’t love you, not in that way. You know about Michael and my feelings for him remain the same even though we’ll probably never see each other again. I don’t want to hurt you, you’ve been so good to us all, but I would never be able to love you as you deserve.’

All this talk about love, thought Frederick, and what was the emotion when it all boiled down to basics? A biological urge to procreate. That was it at bottom. But of course women couldn’t bring themselves to accept that; they had to fabricate their own niceties about the act. He adopted his most understanding face as he pushed Polly gently down into the seat she had vacated a moment or two earlier before pulling another chair in front of her and sitting down himself. ‘You mustn’t worry about that, my dear,’ he said kindly. ‘I understand what you are saying, of course, but I want you for my wife, and I know if I don’t marry you I shall marry no one.’ That was a good line; he had been told that one by a friend of his who had assured him women couldn’t resist such a declaration. ‘And putting aside my love for you, there are so many other reasons why a union between us is right. Your family will become my family and come under my protection here, you have my word on that, and the two farms can join together as one. It will wipe out any debts and I might even be able to make something of the land.’

She had to try, just one last time. She had read something recently, and although she wasn’t sure of her facts, she understood banks sometimes lent money to businesses in situations like this. ‘I could try to borrow the money to pay you back, from a bank, perhaps? If Grandda put the farm up as surety on a loan—’

‘A bank?’ Frederick’s laugh was harsh. ‘A bank wouldn’t touch you, my dear, not in your present circumstances, besides which, you can’t trust banks. It’s only land and bricks and mortar that mean anything, and money you can see in your hand. Never set foot in a bank if you know what’s good for you, that’s my advice. Besides . . .’ He looked at her almost sorrowfully now. ‘When they knew of the extent of your debts . . . Oh, Polly’ – he now took her hands again, his face earnest – ‘say yes to me, my dear, and make me the happiest man alive.’

She had known, hadn’t she? From the moment she had seen the devastation at home, she had known. She had been sitting with her head bowed as she stared at their joined hands, but now Polly lifted her blue gaze to his waiting eyes. ‘I ... I can’t promise you that I will come to love you, but I can promise that I will try, and also that I’ll be a good wife,’ she said in a small but clear voice. ‘If you are satisfied with that, then yes, I will marry you, Frederick.’

And so it was done.

Chapter Thirteen

The banns were read out for the first time two Sundays later, on the sixteenth of September, the day after the newspapers reported that twenty-five men had died in a Durham pit disaster. Although the accident was big news, it couldn’t compare to the extensive spread the TUC conference at the beginning of the month had merited, with nearly five hundred delegates representing a million and a half union members attending and causing waves of concern to flow in high places up and down the land. What was the country coming to, with workers demanding their ‘rights’? Rights? The only rights they should be allowed were the ones given them by their betters. Such was the mood among many of Britain’s mine owners and land owners, and many northern pits were feeling the bite of increasing hostility between management and union members. It was unfortunate that it was in this charged climate that Luke and Arnold first heard of Polly’s impending marriage.

Polly had written to Luke to inform him that the family were now residing at Stone Farm due to extensive damage to the farmhouse, and that she had accepted a proposal of marriage from Frederick – the ceremony to take place at the end of October. The letter caused a row between the two brothers that made all their previous altercations appear mild.

‘The dirty little baggage.’ Arnold was all but foaming at the mouth when he finished reading the short note Luke had passed silently to him. ‘She’s fooled us all, you see that, don’t you? She never intended to marry Michael, she was just using the milksop to get Frederick interested. She fancies herself the lady wife of that upstart, does she? By, I see it all now. The filthy, conniving whore—’

‘That’s enough.’ Luke had leapt up from his seat so suddenly the chair had gone flying back against the wall, and he was glaring down at his brother, who was sitting with his injured leg propped up on the cracket.

The two men were just about to eat their evening meal which one of their neighbours, Elsie Appleby, had prepared and dished up for them before disappearing to see to her own family’s dinner. Luke was now paying this same neighbour to tend to Eva during the day – his stepmother had suffered a complete breakdown, according to the doctor – and take care of the washing and ironing, and all their meals. Elsie did what she was paid to do, but with her own large family of ten children to look after, it meant the shine and sparkle of Eva’s houseproud days were a thing of the past.

‘You’re determined not to see it, aren’t you? It’s staring you in the face in black and white, and still you’re too damn stubborn or stupid to see what she is. She’s had her sights set on Stone Farm all along, that’s what this letter says.’

‘The letter says they have been forced out of their home through no fault of their own, and Frederick’s done the Christian thing and taken them in.’ Which was more than he himself would have been able to do, Luke reflected bitterly. He was working extra shifts now when he was able to get them – Arnold’s compensation money wouldn’t stretch far, and with his father’s wage gone it meant they were hard pushed, even without Elsie Appleby to pay.

He’d thought of Polly often in the last weeks – dreamed of her both when he was awake in the bowels of the earth and when he was asleep – but he had told himself he had to give her a chance to get over Michael and for his situation to clear before he could even begin to attempt to persuade her to see him as something other than a big brother type figure.

‘Christian thing?’ Arnold swore loudly before he continued, ‘By, man, you’re as thick as two short planks if you think that. All them books and things he’s brought her over the years has been a means to an end. She knew what he was about all right, and now she’s got what she wanted. I wouldn’t be surprised if she caused the damage at the farm on purpose to give him a jog to get a move on, and once she was sitting pretty at his place she brought him up to scratch. And how? You asked yourself that then? I bet his bed’s been warm the last few nights.’

‘If you could stand on two legs I’d ram that last remark down your throat.’

‘Maybe, but it don’t alter nothing. She’s scum, like the dockside dollies an’ such, but at least they’re honest enough to admit what they are. I’d sooner trust them any day than Polly Farrow.’

‘The trouble with you is that your mind is a sewer, it always has been, and it taints everything it touches.’ Luke’s face was white but his eyes were dark with fury, and the two brothers stared at each other with absolute loathing before Luke snatched up his cap and stormed out of the house. If he stayed there a minute – a second – longer he would forget Arnold’s leg had been broken in three places and land him one to take him into next weekend.

Arnold’s teeth continued to grind together for some moments after Luke had left, his eyes staring blindly across the room as he inwardly cursed Polly. The trouble that trollop had caused; leading them all on, acting the innocent! But he’d known, he’d known what was at the back of those great blue eyes of hers, and he’d been proved right, hadn’t he? By, he had. He could see now why she had acted the virtuous maiden with him when he had showed his hand – bigger fish to fry than a common miner for Polly Farrow. Didn’t think he was good enough, did she? But he’d show her. If it was the last thing he did, he’d make her regret the day she turned him down. No one treated him like muck and got away with it.

The plate of thick rabbit stew in front of him was slowly congealing, its sweet smell suddenly rising up in his nostrils as he glanced down at the table, and he reached out, his face savage as he threw the plate across the room. It smashed against the range, shattering into pieces and causing the fire to sizzle as the stew cascaded into the flames. He’d see her like that one day, broken and crushed. The thought took the tenseness out of his body and he slowly relaxed back against the chair, taking a piece of bread from the plate in the middle of the table and beginning to chew on it. Aye, he’d see his day with Polly Farrow all right, and he’d teach her a lesson she’d never forget. And in the mean time, if there was any way he could make her life just a little bit less hunky-dory, he’d do it. There were more ways to kill a cat than skinning it, and this particular little alley cat would be crawling to him on her knees before he was finished.

Once outside, Luke crossed Southwick Road and plunged into the warren of streets the coal industry had spawned. The smoke from Wearmouth colliery and countless industrial chimneys hung over the rooftops like a black pall, but Luke had lived in Monkwearmouth all his life and he didn’t notice the smoke and stench which poisoned vegetation and human beings alike. The town depended on its collieries, riverside industry and shipping, and the busy clangour meant growth, and growth meant wages, and wages meant food in hungry bellies.