A Woman of Substance (33 page)

Adam’s legs shook as he strode to the bed. I shouldn’t be doing this, he thought. She is my wife’s sister. It is against all the precepts of my religion, my upbringing, my code of honour. I should not be doing this. It’s wrong, he told himself. And then he thought:
But I don’t give a damn.

Adam put Olivia down gently on the bed. She lay back against the pillows, looking up at him, her face still white and strained, her breathing hurried. Adam sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned over her. He put his hands around her neck and unclasped the necklace and carefully removed the sapphires from her ears. He placed them on the bedside table and took her face in his hands with great tenderness. He kissed her long and deeply. Then, half smiling, he stood up and walked swiftly to the bedroom door. He heard her gasp. He turned and looked back at her. He took in the pain and bewilderment on her face, the stark terror flooding her eyes.

‘I’ve waited for you for twenty years,’ Olivia whispered in a voice so low it was a moan. ‘That’s half my life, Adam Fairley. You’re not going to leave me now?’

Adam shook his head. ‘No, I’m not going to leave you, my darling. Never. Ever again.’

His eyes did not leave her face. With one hand he locked the door and with the other he began to unfasten the rest of the sapphire studs on his ruffled silk shirt.

Emma sat at the table in the kitchen of Fairley Hall, sewing a white lace collar on to a silk blouse which Olivia Wainright had given to her as a gift, along with a dark green cotton dress and a thick woollen shawl of the brightest red.

It was warm and snug in the large kitchen. The fire burned merrily in the hearth, the sun poured in through the sparkling windows, and the whole room gleamed in the bright afternoon light, which bounced off the shining copper and polished brass and struck the flagstone floor sharply, so that this, too, looked golden. The atmosphere was exceptionally tranquil, it being Sunday. Murgatroyd had just departed for Pudsey to visit his sister, and Annie, the betweenmaid, was upstairs in the dining room, following Emma’s instructions and setting the table for dinner. The roaring fire spurted and crackled almost in unison with the little whistles and snores that issued forth from Mrs Turner’s spherical body. The cook was sprawled in a chair, dozing in front of the fire, her cap askew, her ample bosom rising and falling contentedly as she slumbered on, dreaming her untroubled dreams. The only other sounds were the ticking of the clock and the occasional roar of the wind as it rattled against the windows. Although it was sunny, and the sky was a clear cerulean blue, it was a blustering April day outside.

Emma smoothed out the silk and held the blouse up in front of her, gazing at it appraisingly. With her innate sense of taste and her keen eyes she was quick to recognize its elegance. It was almost new, and such a lovely blue. Like the sky outside, Emma thought, glancing out of the window. Like me mam’s eyes, she said to herself, and decided she would give it to her mother when she went home later in the week. The idea of being able to give her mother something so beautiful filled Emma with immense pleasure, and her usually sober face was suddenly illuminated by a most joyful smile. She
picked up a lace cuff and started to stitch it neatly on to one of the long, full sleeves, her mind turning with thoughts of Leeds, and her Plan with a capital
P.

Just then the outside kitchen door flew open so violently, and with such rattlings and bangings, Emma was startled. She looked at the door expectantly, and decided it had been blown open by the force of the gale which was raging outside. She was about to go and close it when a cheery face appeared around the doorjamb. Vibrant black curls blew in the wind, bright black eyes danced merrily above tanned cheeks, and the wide mouth broke into a mischievous grin.

‘Sure and I hope ye won’t be turning a cold spalpeen away on this bitter day.’ The voice was full of lilting brogue and laughter and love of life. ‘’Tis a cup of tea I hope ye’ll be offering me.’

‘Blackie!’ shrieked Emma, totally forgetting the sleeping Mrs Turner in her delight, and she leapt up and ran across the room, her skirts swishing around her long legs, her face wreathed in smiles. Blackie eased his great frame through the door, and came down the steps in three swift jumps. He swept Emma up into his brawny arms, swung her around several times until the room whirled before her eyes, and then he put her down carefully. He studied her gently and held her at arms’ length, scrutinizing her intently.

‘Ye get to look more fetching every time I be seeing ye, mavourneen,’ he exclaimed. ‘I do believe ye are the prettiest colleen in the whole of England, and that’s the God’s truth, I am thinking.’

Emma blushed prettily. ‘Aay, Blackie, yer a real tease. Don’t be so silly.’ This was said somewhat scathingly, but nevertheless she beamed with pleasure.

The noise and bustle and sudden flurry had awakened Cook, who sat up with a start and rubbed her eyes. She blinked, momentarily confused. ‘Now, lass, what’s going on?’ she shouted, glowering at Emma. ‘Yer making enough noise ter waken t’dead!’

Before Emma could announce the arrival of their unexpected visitor, Blackie was striding across the kitchen to pacify Cook. ‘Faith and are ye not a sight for sore eyes, Mrs Turner
me luv,’ Blackie said. ‘’Tis only me, come to pay me compliments and give ye this.’ He paused at her chair and, with a small flourish, pulled a brown paper bag out of his coat pocket, which he gave to her, bowing elaborately. Mrs Turner’s irascibility instantly evaporated at the sight of Blackie O’Neill, of whom she had grown very fond.

‘Why, Blackie, aren’t yer the one,’ said Cook, positively glowing. She peeped into the bag and her birdlike brown eyes lit up. ‘Ooh, Blackie, me favourite toffees and humbugs. Thank yer, lad. That’s right thoughtful of yer. It is that. And have yer heard our news? We don’t have ter worry no more about the likes of Murgatroyd. No, by gum, we don’t.’ A gloating look settled on Cook’s face as she confided. ‘He’s had his wings clipped, Blackie lad. He has that. Things have changed around here since Mrs Wainright came.’ Cook gave him the benefit of a gratified smile and went on, ‘Mrs Wainright is ever so good to us all. Yes, she is indeed. Why, that woman’s an angel.’

‘From all I be hearing she must be an angel,’ said Blackie, his eyes merry. ‘And can I not see with me own eyes that things have improved, Mrs Turner? To be sure they have, thank God.’ Blackie stole a quick look at Emma, and was further impressed. She was blossoming into a truly lovely young woman. She looked cared for and beautiful, with her glowing face and silky hair, wearing her crisp blue dress and starched white-apron.

‘Yes, indeed, it warms the cockles of me heart to see the colleen so well fed, and dressed in a bit of decent clothing,’ Blackie added, nodding his head approvingly. Cook clucked her agreement and leaned back in the chair. She popped a humbug into her mouth and propped her feet up on the hearth, toasting her toes.

Now Blackie sat down at the table opposite Emma. He fished around inside his coat and brought out a small package. ‘And
this
is for ye, mavourneen,’ he said importantly, placing it on the table in front of her. His gay black eyes regarded her fondly.

Emma stared at the package and then she looked up at
Blackie with large eyes. ‘What is it?’ she asked, her voice hushed.

‘Just a little bit o’ nonsense. A birthday present for ye,’ said Blackie. His mouth twitched with pleasure as he observed her growing curiosity mingled with anticipation.

‘But it’s not me birthday till the end of April,’ said Emma. She picked up the package and turned it over in her hands, examining it with mounting interest. She had never received a present like this before. A present wrapped in silver paper and tied with a silver ribbon. Never in her whole life. It looked almost too beautiful to open.

‘Yes, I know when it is,’ Blackie told her. ‘But me Uncle Pat’s sending me to Harrogate, to do a big building job, and I’ll be gone for three weeks or more. I didn’t want to be missing the special occasion of ye birthday. That’s why I brought it for ye today, me bonny mavourneen.’

Emma looked down at the gift in her hands. Her face was flushed and her vivid eyes sparkled with shimmering green light. ‘Can I open it now then?’ she asked, unable to contain her excitement. ‘I don’t have ter wait, do I?’

‘Sure and ye don’t, Emma. Open it this minute,’ said Blackie, enjoying the scene enormously.

Emma untied the silver ribbon and removed the silver paper with the greatest of care. A small black box was revealed, which Emma stared at wide-eyed, her heart fluttering. Slowly she lifted the lid. ‘Oh, Blackie, it’s lovely,’ she gasped, her eyes growing larger. With trembling hands she took out a small brooch designed in the shape of a bow and decorated with bright green stones. She held it up to the light. The cheap little brooch glittered with such radiance in the sunlight its tawdriness was diminished and, in her hands, it seemed to take on a special kind of beauty, and even Blackie was amazed.

‘Look, Mrs Turner,’ Emma shrieked, running to show her. Cook said, ‘Well, aren’t you a lucky lass. That was right kind of Blackie ter remember yer fifteenth birthday.’

‘It’s only glass,’ Blackie said in an apologetic tone. ‘But when I saw it in the shop in Leeds, in one of them grand arcades, I said to meself, “Why, ’tis the colour of Emma’s emerald
eyes, sure and it is.” So buy it I did, without another minute’s hesitation.’ Blackie grinned in his engaging way. ‘When I’m a toff, that millionaire I’m planning to be one day, I shall be buying ye a brooch exactly like this one, mavourneen. But it will be made of the real emeralds, I can promise ye that,’ he announced with the utmost confidence.

‘Yer don’t have ter do that,’ Emma exclaimed quickly. ‘This is the most beautiful brooch I’ve ever seen. Why, I shall keep it
always.
I don’t want no emeralds, Blackie. This is perfect. Thank yer, ever so much.’ She smiled at him radiantly and kissed him on the cheek.

He hugged her to him and said, ‘I am glad ye be liking it, Emma.’

Emma sat down, the smile lingering on her face, and after a few seconds she returned the brooch safely to its box, but she left the lid off, so that she could admire it.

‘Well now, how about a nice cup of tea, lad?’ said Cook, heaving herself up out of the chair with a great deal of huffing and puffing. She straightened her cap, smoothed down her apron, and went on, ‘The kettle’s on t’hob and I’ll have a pot mashed in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.’ As she spoke the cook padded over to the dresser, took down a brown pot and a tea caddy, and began to busy herself at the dresser.

‘Thank ye, Mrs Turner, I don’t mind if I do,’ said Blackie, crossing his great legs and sitting back comfortably in the chair. He gave his full attention to Emma. ‘And what are ye doing here on Sunday, might I be asking?’ he queried, frowning. ‘I thought ye would be having the day off, as ye always do. I was going to stop off at ye dad’s and leave ye the present, after I’d dropped in for a little visit with Mrs Turner here.’

‘The Squire gave a dinner party last night and Mrs Wainright asked me ter work over the weekend, seeing as how there was a right lot of clearing up ter do,’ explained Emma. ‘I won’t be going home till Thursday, but Mrs Wainright’s ever so kind, Blackie, and she’s given me four whole days off. Two ter make up for this weekend, and next Saturday and Sunday as well.’

‘I am glad to be hearing that,’ said Blackie. ‘So, the Squire had a dinner party, did he? I bet it was real posh, Emma, eh?
Lots of toffs here, I am thinking.’ Blackie grinned. ‘I’ve no doubt about that, at all, at all. Ah, yes, the money is a wonderful thing to be having.’

Emma nodded solemnly, her eyes glittering. ‘Yer right, Blackie, anybody can be a toff with money.’ She eyed him appraisingly and continued, ‘Yer don’t look so bad yerself. Is that a new suit, then?’

Blackie beamed and sat up straighter, smoothing down his sombre black jacket made of good broadcloth. ‘It is indeed. And a new tie,’ he said, touching the dark blue cravat proudly. He winked. ‘Sure and I’m all in me Sunday best today. Ye don’t think I’d come visiting an ejicated young lady in me working clothes, do ye now?’

Emma smiled and, ignoring this comment, said, ‘Yer should’ve seen Mrs Fairley and Mrs Wainright. They looked ever so beautiful. Like the pictures from the illustrated magazines. Real
elegant.
’

‘I can just imagine,’ said Blackie. He gazed at Emma affectionately and added, ‘And that’s the way ye’ll be looking one day, me spry young colleen, when ye are the grand lady.’

Emma blushed. ‘Oh, I don’t knows about that,’ she murmured, suddenly bashful. ‘But tell me, what’s happening in Leeds? Tell me some more about Leeds, Blackie. What’ve yer been doing there lately?’

‘Not much news,’ said Blackie cautiously, his eyes wary as he became conscious of that look on her face, that look which always appeared when she mentioned the city. ‘Things are just the same, I am thinking. I have nothing exciting to be telling ye, mavourneen, sure and that’s the God’s truth. And all I’ve been doing, since I last saw ye in March, is work hard. Me and me Uncle Pat, why, we’ve more jobs than we can handle these days. Thanks to the Squire. Sure and it is himself who has helped us to prosper. Giving us the recommendations and all.’ Now unable to conceal his jubilation, he added exuberantly, and without stopping to consider the effect it might have on her, ‘I not be telling ye a lie, Emma, when I say that business is booming in Leeds.’

Emma looked at Blackie intently. She thought: Then I must go there soon, but said, ‘And what’s in it for the Squire?
Recommending yer for all this work?’

Blackie threw back his great head and roared with laughter. ‘There be nothing in it for himself,’ he said. ‘Whyever should ye be thinking such a thing, mavourneen?’ Blackie pulled a red kerchief out of his pocket, wiped his eyes, and blew his nose.

‘’Cos I knows the Squire, and
he
would never do owt for nowt,’ she said pithily, contempt curving her mouth. ‘Talk about hard-faced, yer could straighten nails on his.’

Blackie laughed again and slapped his knee. ‘Emma! Emma! Not everybody’s on the take or on the make,’ he remonstrated gently. ‘Especially a fine gent like the Squire. He recommends us because he is acquainted with our work. He knows we are good bricklayers and builders, me and me Uncle Pat. Sure and he does.’ He paused and said with a degree of certitude, ‘He also recommends us because he likes us, I am thinking.’

‘Oh, aye,’ remarked Emma, dryly, her eyes doubtful. She found this hard to believe.

Blackie leaned forward across the table, and said confidingly, ‘Well, it is more than the
liking
of us. Ye see, mavourneen, me Uncle Pat saved the Squire’s life three years ago, and himself has been grateful ever since.’

‘Saved the Squire’s life,’ Emma echoed coldly. ‘And how did he do that, then?’

‘The Squire was driving through Leeds in his gig. Down Briggate, I believe it was, and the horse bolted. Sure and it did. Me Uncle Pat saw it happening, and with the great presence of mind he leapt on the horse and brought it to a standstill, after a great struggle, terrifying to behold, so I understand,’ said Blackie, unconsciously throwing back his shoulders. ‘He’s a big man and strong, me Uncle Pat is, but it took all of his great strength, indeed it did! The Squire could have been killed, sure and he could, if it hadn’t been for me Uncle Pat. And mighty dangerous it was. Why, me Uncle Pat was almost trampled under the horse and maimed for life.’