The Stony Path (55 page)

Once the sitting room door had closed behind her mother and Emily was posted as lookout at the top of the landing, Ruth went into Polly’s room, where her sister was lying in bed, the bassinet to the side of it.

Polly’s cheeks were flushed with their first real colour since the exhausting confinement, and as Ruth nodded across at the bright blue eyes, Polly slid quickly out of bed, gathering Alice to her a moment later. The three hours which had elapsed since the women had made their plans had seemed like three days, but now the moment was here, Polly was suddenly scared to death. What if she was wrong? What if Frederick hadn’t been trying to let her know about some secret hoard he’d hidden away? He had always insisted that while the farm made little actual profit it enabled family and workers alike to live very well, and that was enough, but she didn’t believe that any more, not after the steady profit of the last months. No, she was right about the box, she knew she was. Pray God her mother hadn’t found it first.

They flitted across the landing and into the extended part of the house like will o’ the wisps, to find that Betsy had already stripped the bed and hung the mattress out of the window. ‘Just in case she comes back for anythin’,’ Betsy whispered as Ruth closed the door behind them. Polly’s legs were shaking and she sat on one of the easy chairs Betsy drew forward for her before pulling the heavy, thick rug to one side. They all stared down at the innocuous floorboards, the one with the great chip out of it riveting their gaze.

‘By, lass, I don’t mind tellin’ you I’ve had the skitters since Ruth come in an’ woke us up this mornin’,’ Betsy murmured softly, ‘but it all fits, you know. Croft’s said many a time on the quiet he reckons the master’s got a bit salted away. He’s not as daft as he looks, Croft.’

‘Go on, Betsy. Try and lift it up,’ Polly said quietly, hugging the sleeping baby against her swollen breasts. Alice was due for a feed, and in spite of the fact that Polly was still bleeding quite heavily and felt incredibly tired, she was producing an abundance of milk, which Alice took with relish. ‘But quietly, mind,’ she warned. ‘Mother’s got ears like cuddy-lugs.’

The floorboard took a little prising, but then it was up, and the three women peered into the hole. There it was, a large tin box – too large to extract through the space.

‘Perhaps the other floorboards lift away now?’ Polly whispered softly. They did, and then Betsy and Ruth between them heaved the box on to the bedroom floor. Polly handed Alice to Ruth, then knelt down on the floor and reached out a hand to lift the lid of the box. There were numerous little cloth bags inside, all secured with string, perhaps two dozen or more, along with some documents tied with faded ribbon. Polly opened one and then tipped the shining contents into her lap. Some fifty or so gold sovereigns clinked a sound that was sweeter than any music.

‘Eee, lass, lass.’ Betsy’s round eyes nearly popped out of her head. ‘The crafty old so-an’-so; who’d have thought it?’

‘Oh, Polly, you were right, you were right.’ Ruth’s body had gone limp; only her arms remained fixed round the tiniest member of the quartet, who was blissfully unaware of the drama being enacted in front of her.

Polly herself said nothing, just stared at the rows and rows of neat little bags as her heart thudded and reverberated against her ribcage. There was a fortune here, a small fortune. Years and years and years of careful saving, possibly begun by Frederick’s father before him. And he had wanted her to have it at the end, he had. She was his legal wife, and although when she had married him she hadn’t thought about inheriting his wealth, the farm would have been hers but for her mother’s scheming.

She picked up the bundle of documents and untied them. There were his father’s two marriage certificates and what looked like a couple of Sunday school awards for Frederick, along with three documents relating to the purchase of land as the farm had grown. One was in Frederick’s father’s time, another related to the old Nicholson property Frederick had acquired, and the third – the third was an independent summary of what her grandfather’s farm had been worth when Frederick had taken it over. And it was more, much more, than Frederick had led them to believe.

Polly sat back on her heels, stunned. He had cheated them, Frederick had cheated her grandparents out of their rightful due. Her grandda and gran could have sold the farm and had plenty of money to pay off their debts and buy a little house somewhere, perhaps with a garden where they could have kept a goat and a few chickens. Who had he bribed to keep quiet? And how could he? How could he have done that to two old people who had never wished him a day’s harm in their lives?

‘What is it, lass? What’s the matter?’ As Betsy’s anxious voice penetrated her stupor, Polly silently took Alice from Ruth. She passed her sister the document, and then, as Ruth scanned the written page, explained to both of the women what it meant.

‘The mean old blighter!’ Betsy’s head wagged with indignation. ‘But I wouldn’t put anythin’ past him now, lass. All this money up here an’ all any of the workers got at Christmas was a few bits of groceries. They improved once you come, I can tell you! By, you live an’ learn, you do straight.’

Aye, you lived and learned all right. Polly thought back again to the horror of her wedding night, the brutality and degradation she’d suffered and the misery that had unfolded from that time. Of the numerous slurs and insults she’d endured in this house, and the constant fight she had engaged in to hold her head up high and not be browbeaten either by circumstances or by her husband and her mother. And Arnold, the vicious lies he had spread about her, the stain he had attempted to smear on her reputation – him, the lowest, the most base of individuals. Oh, you lived and learned all right.

She breathed in deeply, her head rising and her deep blue eyes looking round the room as she exhaled. But the cruel and the depraved and the liars didn’t always win. She thought of Luke, how he had been the night before when he had visited the farm, and the sweet, tender and wonderful things he had said to her, things she would carry in her heart to her dying day. And she glanced down at her precious daughter, at the blessing which had been so unexpected and was now so treasured. And then her gaze took in Ruth and Betsy, their faces concerned for her because of their love. Real love. She was so rich. Forget this box and all it held; she had been rich beyond measure before this.

‘Can you carry the box into my room?’ she asked Betsy and Ruth. ‘I’ll check with Emily that the coast is clear first.’

‘Eee, don’t you worry, lass, I’ll take it,’ Betsy said as Ruth went to help her. ‘Weighs nowt more than half a sack of spuds or a basket of wet washin’ fresh from the mangle.’

There was only dappled sunlight on the landing besides Emily, and once they were all ensconced in Polly’s room, and Polly was sitting feeding Alice, Betsy pushed the box under the bed and Ruth covered it with a blanket just to be sure, although it was not visible to anyone standing in the room.

‘I’ll go an’ finish in your mam’s room, lass, an’ then I’ll be back,’ Betsy said. ‘Don’t want her nosin’ about before we’re straight. Come on, Emily.’

‘And I’ll go down and make a cup of tea for us all for when you’ve finished,’ Ruth put in swiftly. ‘I’ll bring it up here with that seed cake you made yesterday, Betsy, and we’ll have a little celebration.’

They all beamed at her as they filed out, and Polly beamed back. Aye, she was rich all right, and she wanted Alice to grow up surrounded by all this love, and why not? Aye, why not indeed? she thought as Alice continued to suckle and the vista beyond the window was bathed in mellow golden sunlight. She could make this money work for them, for them all. Luke could leave the pit for good, and it would enable him to follow the desire of his heart and get involved in local politics to begin with. He could educate himself further, do whatever was necessary, and then . . . who knew? The sky was the limit. Money opened doors. It wasn’t right maybe, but that was the way of the world, and the social reforms that Luke and others were already working and fighting for might come to pass all the quicker.

She and Luke could buy a nice house, a big house, but not just for themselves. Ruth could live with them, Betsy and Emily too, and she and the three other women could run the place as a boarding house to begin with – she had had practice enough back on her grandda’s farm. And then, once Luke was established and if things turned out well, they could maybe think about taking in non-paying guests – a sort of halfway house for needy or destitute families, perhaps? There was a need, a desperate need for such places. She didn’t quite know how the mechanics of such an operation would work, but all that could be sorted out later – for the moment, it was enough that it could happen. And it could, oh, it could.

A few minutes later the others came bustling back and Polly reflected that her mother couldn’t fail to be suspicious of the glow on their faces if she saw them. All three women were positively bursting with excitement.

‘You know what this means, don’t you?’ Polly said once they were drinking tea and eating cake. ‘We’re all free of the farm and the past – we can make our own life, all of us, if we want to.’

‘I’m not with you, lass,’ Betsy said bemusedly.

‘Oh yes you are, Betsy.’ And now Polly’s face was alight too. ‘You’re with me all right, the same as Ruth and Emily are. If you want to you can leave here, and soon, as quickly as I can arrange things.’

‘Have you gone doolally, lass?’

‘Probably, but it feels wonderful!’

‘Polly, what exactly are you saying?’ Ruth asked softly.

She quickly outlined her thoughts to them, and as their mouths dropped open, one by one, it was truly comical. ‘We can set the boarding house up as a business between us all,’ Polly said eagerly, ‘and we’ll have it stated in writing legally by Mr Johnson. Then any profits – as well as the hard work and worry a business entails – can be shared by us all.’

‘I don’t know what to say, lass.’ Betsy looked to be near tears, and then she dug Emily in the ribs as she added, her voice stronger, ‘An’ stop your blubbin’, you! You oughta be down on your knees thankin’ God for today, not bawlin’ your eyes out.’

‘Do you think Luke will agree to you sharing with us?’ Ruth asked quietly.

‘Oh, yes.’

‘He might not. He might think you’re being far too generous.’

‘Not Luke,’ Polly said positively. ‘He’s the only man I know who has always put his money where his mouth is. He’s a man for the people, Ruth, that’s the only way I can explain it. He’ll make a difference, I know he will, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s a Member of Parliament one day. Times are changing, and fast; you ought to hear him talk the last few nights. He’s . . . he’s wonderful.’

‘When are you going to tell him?’

‘Now, today. I want you to help me get Alice dressed and ready for a drive, and I’m going to pack enough to tide us over until I can get everything I need picked up.’ And to the chorus of protest that immediately ensued, Polly added, ‘I can’t stay here another day,’ in a tone of voice that quietened the others.

‘But, lass, you’re not well enough,’ said Betsy soberly.

‘Ruth will come with me.’ Polly stretched out her hand to her sister, and as Ruth clasped it, Polly said, ‘We’ll stay in town somewhere, we’re not exactly short of cash,’ and they both laughed with the shrillness of nervous excitement. ‘And then once everything is ready, we’ll send for you and Emily.’

‘But you shouldn’t be out of bed for another two weeks!’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever done what I was told to do, Betsy, just what I felt I had to,’ Polly said with a big grin. ‘And I need to do this. I . . . I have to get away from my mother.’ And here the smile faded. ‘She means Alice harm, I can feel it in my bones.’

Betsy would have liked to reassure Polly she was merely in the grip of a first rush of fiercely protective maternal love, but in all honesty she could not. Hilda had all the natural motherly instincts of a spitting cobra, and was the reason Betsy herself had slept with one ear cocked since the little one had been born. She would never forget the wild exultation on Hilda’s face when Polly had gone into premature labour, or the almost insane rage when she had discovered the child was alive. Her own granddaughter! She felt a little shiver slither down her spine. Perhaps it was best Polly left today, even though she was still middling.

When Emily went to find Croft in order that the horse and cart – the trap not being large enough to accommodate both women and the luggage they would take – could be harnessed, she found he was dealing with one of the large beasts down in the far field, and so it was into the afternoon before they were ready. Hilda had been back in her own quarters since mid morning, and whilst the house was quiet, Betsy had helped Ruth pack a large trunk with the women’s clothing and night attire – the contents of the tin box now secure under several pairs of Ruth’s calico drawers and petticoats – along with a small portmanteau holding items for Alice.

It was just touching three o’clock when Polly, feeling a little shaky but determined to leave, began to descend the staircase, Ruth a step or so behind her with Alice in her arms, and Betsy and Emily carrying the trunk between them with the portmanteau tucked under Betsy’s other arm.

Polly had just reached the foot of the stairs when the door of the sitting room opened and Hilda stood framed on the threshold. Polly heard her sister gasp, but she herself was not surprised. This confrontation had had to come; whether by accident or when Hilda had seen them leave from her vantage point in the rooms overlooking the front garden and farmyard.