Twisted Strands (8 page)

‘And you needn’t start your wheedling, either,’ Mary said, but now her tone was playful and the look she cast up at him, coy.

Richard smiled at her. ‘Just tell me,’ he asked in his soft, deep tones, ‘why you think we can’t look after her properly.’

‘I didn’t say you.’ Mary sniffed. ‘I said her.’ She nodded across the hearth at her daughter.

Behind them, Josh gave a sigh and lowered his bulk into a chair near the table, as if resigning himself to a long, wrangling argument. Then all at once, he stood up again. ‘Evie, you come
with me, mi duck. We’ll leave your mam and Richard to talk.’ When Eveleen seemed to hesitate, he added firmly, ‘Come on.’

He took her coat down from the peg behind the back door and held it for her, whilst she slipped her arms in.

As Josh held open the back door for her, Eveleen overheard her mother, with a different, much gentler tone, say, ‘I realize you must think I’m too harsh with Bridie, but I’m
responsible for her. I know what can happen to young girls. Believe me. And sometimes, Richard, I am so afraid for her . . .’

‘The rain’s still holding off,’ Josh said, interrupting Eveleen’s eavesdropping. ‘We’ll walk to the beck.’

They walked in silence through the farmyard, hens scattering at their approach, through the gate and into the neighbouring field, which led down to the stream. It wasn’t until they were
standing on the bank, Eveleen’s arm tucked through Josh’s, and watching the rushing water that Eveleen said quietly, ‘It was about here I found him.’

Josh nodded. ‘Aye, I know, lass, I know.’

‘She still blames me for his death, you know. She says that the worry over my involvement with Stephen Duns-more caused his death.’

‘That’s nonsense.’

‘I know. His family had some sort of weakness of the heart. His own father had died in much the same way. But you won’t convince my mother of that.’

‘When I first got to know you and your family,’ Josh said. ‘I knew things were – well – difficult between you and your mother, but at the time Mary and I married I
thought it would get easier.’

‘It did. Much easier.’

‘Is it my fault do you think? Is she not happy with me now?’

‘Oh, Josh, she’s wonderfully happy with you. Don’t ever think that. This has absolutely nothing to do with you. What I mean is, it’s not your fault in any way.’ She
sighed. ‘It’s me. Or rather, it’s because Bridie is growing up and Mam has the same concerns about her as she once had about me.’

Josh digested her words and then nodded. ‘I see what you mean.’ He pulled a comical face and added, ‘I think.’

Eveleen glanced at him. Carefully she said, ‘And then there’s her own unhappiness she suffered as a young girl.’

She was treading very tentatively, anxious not to divulge secrets that her mother had not shared with Josh. But he nodded and said quietly, ‘Yes, she told me all about that, even before we
were married.’ He turned his head and smiled at Eveleen now. ‘She was so afraid it would make a difference to me.’

Eveleen squeezed his arm. He was such a good, kind man and he loved Mary unconditionally. Eveleen believed that, whatever Mary might have done in her youth, it would have made no difference to
the man standing beside her, just as it never had to her own father.

‘Her family treated her so cruelly,’ Eveleen said with compassion. ‘There’s no wonder the scars are still there.’

‘It’s a shame, though,’ Josh reflected sadly, ‘that the past is still blighting the present.’

Now he patted her hand as it rested on his arm. ‘Mind you don’t let that happen. Don’t let Stephen Dunsmore’s cruel desertion of you spoil your happiness with
Richard.’

Eveleen’s eyes clouded. ‘I thought I was completely over the hurt, but when I saw him again the other week – you know, when our motor frightened his horse – I have to
admit, though only to you, Josh, that it opened the wound again.’

Josh was firm as he said, ‘Well, you really shouldn’t let it. Richard adores you. He’ll never hurt you.’

They walked back to the house and found Richard ready to leave, but it wasn’t until they were in the car and heading home that he admitted, ‘I didn’t get any further with her
than you did, darling. But we won’t give up. It’s time that poor child saw another side to life.’

From an upstairs window, Bridie, biting hard on her lower lip to stem tears that threatened, watched them leave.

Both Richard and Eveleen had come to her bedroom to say goodbye to her. They had hugged her and promised that somehow they would persuade her gran to change her mind.

But, as she watched them go, Bridie did not believe their promises. She felt betrayed and deserted by everyone around her.

It took Richard three more visits to Pear Tree Farm and until almost the end of June to persuade Mary to allow Bridie to visit Nottingham.

‘And only a week, mind. I want her back here next Sunday without fail. There’ll be our haymaking soon. She’ll be needed and Ted Morton says there’ll be work for her on
the estate. I don’t want her getting used to a life of idleness.’

‘Oh, she won’t be idle,’ Richard promised, winking at Bridie. ‘We’ve got such a lot of things planned. She’ll not have a minute to call her own.’

Mollified a little, Mary sniffed. ‘I’m pleased to hear it.’ Then she glanced at him shrewdly. ‘But I don’t expect it’s honest hard work you’ve got
planned for her, is it? Just a lot of gallivanting.’

What intrigued Bridie more than anything was the way her aunt and Richard lived.

‘Who’s the man who opened the door?’ she whispered when she first stepped into the house.

‘That’s Smithers,’ Eveleen said, leading the way into the morning room and crossing to the fireplace to pull on a bell cord.

Only moments later a young girl, not much older than Bridie but dressed in the smart afternoon uniform of a parlourmaid, entered the room.

‘Emily, would you bring tea for us, please?’

The girl bobbed a curtsy and left, but not before the two young girls had eyed each other.

‘You’ve got a maid too?’

Eveleen laughed, ‘Yes, darling. And a cook and a kitchenmaid, but that’s all.’

‘All!’ Bridie exclaimed.

‘A lot of people would have about twice as many. Smithers doubles as a butler and as Uncle Richard’s valet, and Emily is a housemaid in the mornings and parlourmaid in the afternoon.
And she acts as my personal maid too.’

Bridie pulled a face. ‘And I thought I worked hard on the farm.’

‘Richard is very fair to his employees both at home and at the factory,’ her aunt explained as they sat down together to wait for the tea to arrive. ‘And I would say your work
is harder. You have to be out in all weathers and work even longer hours than our servants do.’

Bridie giggled. ‘I can’t get used to it. You having servants.’

Eveleen smiled and leant forward conspiratorially. ‘It took me a long time to get used to it, too. In fact, I don’t think I am even now. I’m always doing things for myself that
Emily says should be her job.’ She straightened up as the door opened. ‘Ah, here she is with the tea.’

Fascinated, Bridie watched as the young girl set the tray on the low table near Eveleen.

‘Thank you, Emily. I’ll pour.’

The girl bobbed again. ‘Very good, ma’am.’

‘And would you take some tea to Mr Stokes? I think he’s gone to his study.’

As the door closed behind her, Bridie said, ‘Won’t Uncle Richard have tea with us?’

‘No, love. He’s got some paperwork to do, but he’ll join us for dinner naturally.’

Naturally, Bridie thought. None of this was ‘natural’ to her. She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. If she’d been at home now, she’d be setting the table for tea
and then going outside into the yard to help Josh milk their six cows instead of sitting here in this elegant room, sipping tea out of delicate bone-china cups and nibbling at dainty fancy
cakes.

‘Won’t I see him till tomorrow dinnertime, then?’ she asked.

For a moment, Eveleen looked puzzled and then smiled. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I was forgetting. We have dinner in the evening. Lunch is our midday meal.’

‘Oh,’ Bridie said, realizing that she had a lot to learn about life in the city.

‘Your bath’s ready, miss.’ Emily had woken her on her first morning at eight o’clock.

Bright light streamed through the curtains, which the girl had opened and, startled, Bridie jumped out of bed. ‘Oh, whatever time is it? I’m late.’ Then realizing where she
was, she laughed. ‘I forgot.’

‘Your bath’s ready, miss,’ the maid repeated and added, ‘And breakfast is served in the dining room at nine o’clock.’

‘Bath?’

‘Yes, miss. The bathroom’s just outside your door, to the left.’

‘Oh. Thank you.’

Bath night to Bridie was on a Friday in a tin bath on the pegged hearthrug in front of the kitchen fire, her gran pouring in hot water from the range whilst Josh was banished to the front room
until she had finished. Now, it seemed, she was expected to bathe each morning.

When the maid had gone, Bridie tiptoed a little nervously into the bathroom and gasped. Shiny, patterned wallpaper covered the walls and on the floor was black-and-white chequered linoleum. A
huge cast-iron bath with clawed feet, half full of steaming water, was against one wall and near the opposite wall was a marble-topped, tile-backed washstand with a bowl and water jug. This too was
full of hot water. Soap and sponge lay in matching dishes and a brand-new hog’s hair toothbrush had been laid out for Bridie’s use. White, lace-edged towels hung on a rail and soaps and
perfumes lined a shelf. Bridie had never seen anything like this in her life, but sinking into the gloriously hot water, she thought: I could get used to this.

Her aunt’s home was so very different from the farm where both she and Bridie had been brought up. This was a town house in an elegant street of tall, terraced houses. It had an entrance
hall with rooms on either side. What did Auntie Evie call them? Bridie wrinkled her nose, trying to recall. The morning room, the drawing room, and then there was the dining room and Uncle
Richard’s study too. And somewhere, at the back, there must be the kitchen and scullery and maybe a servants’ sitting room. Upstairs there were four bedrooms, the bathroom she was in at
this moment and then up another flight of stairs, were the servants’ bedrooms.

What would her gran think to all this? Bridie thought, as she began to soap herself all over, relishing the luxury.

How lucky Aunt Eveleen was to be married to a man like Uncle Richard. But then, the girl thought: I’d be quite happy to live in a tiny cottage with a tin bath on the hearth once a week, if
only Andrew really loved me.

They did indeed do a lot of gallivanting. Eveleen took her round the city shops, buying her niece a dark blue dress with a white, lace-trimmed smock to wear over it, a coat and
beret-type hat.

‘Now, you really look a grown-up young lady,’ Richard said as the girl paraded before him that evening. She didn’t really, Bridie thought, for the style was still childish, but
she had not liked to seem ungrateful for her aunt’s generosity.

‘Tomorrow,’ Richard was saying, ‘I’ll take you on the river. And the following day I’ll take you on a tour of the factory, that’s if you’d like to see
it. Then on your last night here, we’ll take you out to dine in a smart restaurant and then to the theatre.’

Bridie clapped her hands. ‘Oh, I’d love to see where you work.’ Hurriedly, she added, ‘Where you both work. Then when I’m back home I can picture you at home and at
work too. I can imagine what you’re doing.’

Eveleen and Richard exchanged a glance. Her words had a sad and lonely ring to them.

‘Do you know, Richard, it’s a joy to see her delight in everything,’ Eveleen told him as they sat across the breakfast table before Bridie appeared on her
last morning with them. ‘I’ve just heard her singing in the bath.’

‘Mmm,’ Richard said absently, not looking up from his newspaper.

‘Darling, did you hear what I said?’

He lowered his paper and smiled at her, but she was quick to see that a worried frown did not quite leave his face.

‘What is it, dear? You haven’t minded having her here, have you?’

Now he laughed and, for a moment, the anxiety fled his face. ‘Oh, my darling, of course not. She’s an enchanting child. I’ve loved having her here,’ he assured her, but
now the apprehensive look came back as he prodded the newspaper with his forefinger. ‘No, no, it’s something here in the paper. It’s looking increasingly as if we’re going
to be plunged into trouble in Europe. It might even lead to war.’

Eveleen blinked. ‘War!’ Wrapped up in her own little world of life with Richard, her work at the warehouse and overseeing all the homeworkers, Eveleen took little interest in news,
politics and world affairs. Richard’s prophecy was a profound shock to her. ‘Who with, for goodness sake?’

‘It’s a bit complicated . . .’

‘Too difficult for my little woman’s mind to understand?’ Eveleen bridled.

‘No, no, darling. I can’t understand why we need to be involved myself, but it sounds as if we might be. Archduke Franz Ferdinand, the heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne, has been
assassinated in Sarajevo. He was shot by a Bosnian nationalist – a nineteen-year-old student.’

‘Nineteen!’ Eveleen was appalled. ‘What on earth does a nineteen-year-old know about politics?’

Richard sighed. ‘I’m very much afraid, my love, that at that age they think they know it all. It says here the archduke’s wife flung herself across her husband and was killed
too. She died instantly, he a little while later. You know,’ Richard continued grimly, ‘it reads as if it was a carefully planned plot. Earlier, they’d had a bomb thrown at their
car, but had escaped injury then.’

‘But why? What’s he done? Why should someone want to kill him?’

‘It seems,’ Richard said slowly, scanning the printed page, ‘it’s something to do with the oppression of the Serbian people.’

Eveleen waved her hand, ‘You’re right, I admit it. It is too complicated for me to understand. Why should that involve Britain in a war? It’s nothing to do with us.’ When
Richard did not answer, she pressed, ‘Is it?’