Authors: Freda Lightfoot
The rain was a tumult, bouncing off stones and turning the dirt track into a quagmire. The river would be flooding its banks soon, if she was any judge, and its swollen waters racing down to the weir at the foot of the valley. Ella pulled a sack over her head and set off on the long trek to the church. If the weather seemed bad to her, how much worse must it be for two small children?
She found the pair unwisely huddled beneath the old yew tree in the church yard, too frightened to go any further. Tilda was crying, and brave Emmett was doing his best to comfort and calm his little sister, but the presence of so many gravestones, poking out of the earth all around him like broken bones, wasn’t helping.
Ella gathered them to her in an all-enveloping hug and for once neither of them protested or attempted to wriggle free, as was their wont. They clung to her, both crying by this time. Ella did her best to soothe their fears, wiping the rain from their tearful faces, kissing their frozen cheeks, then she draped folded sacks over their heads and shoulders in a vain attempt to keep off the worst of the rain.
‘Come on, my ducks,’ she said with a cheering smile. ‘Let’s swim home, shall we?’
And with one child tucked under each arm, they set off back to the farm.
Ella did everything she could to get the children warm and dry, with some assistance from Mrs Rackett but none
at all from their father. She stripped them of their wet clothes, called for hot water to be poured in the tin bath, adding a good dose of mustard as an extra precaution. Then, after a brisk rub dry, and with their bellies full of the warming broth, she tucked them into their beds, a hot brick at their toes. For the first time Ella broke her husband’s sacred rule and told them a fairy story. It was the one about the giant turnip, which she hoped would make them laugh. Long before she’d reached the part where it had to be tugged out of the ground, both children were fast asleep. And by morning it was clear to them all that Tilda was ill, very sick indeed.
It was amidst the poverty of Fellside that Livia attempted to come to terms with her loss. She was slowly learning how to live again. Not that it was proving to be an easy process. She’d spent much of those first weeks after Maggie’s death in a state of shock, or sobbing her heart out. It had all seemed so unreal. How could she be dead? Her sister was far too young to die, barely eighteen years old, and with so much to live for.
Every morning during those first painful days Livia would wake and feel disorientated, wondering where she was, and what she was doing sleeping on a straw pallet in an airless loft with ten other people, the stink of the night soil bucket pungent in her nostrils. And then it would all rush back to her.
Maggie had hanged herself.
Why would she do such a thing? And why had she felt unable to turn to her sisters for help? But then Livia had discovered the answer to these questions, and almost wished she hadn’t.
As if coping with her sister’s suicide and funeral wasn’t bad enough, she’d been the one faced with the unpalatable task of dealing with Maggie’s belongings. Livia had shut herself in her sister’s bedroom and with tears raining down her cheeks, had set about folding away her favourite dresses, putting her much-loved teddy bears and childhood books into boxes to give to the poor. It had been utterly heartbreaking. Quite against her better judgement, she’d also flicked through her sister’s personal papers and diaries.
It was while she was engaged in this painful task that she’d found the letter. It was addressed to herself. Maggie must have slipped it into her diary, knowing only Livia would look in there. Opening it with some trepidation, the note was even more shattering than she’d feared. In a few short sentences it stated that she was pregnant, and named the father of her child.
Shock and disbelief had misted Livia’s vision, blurring the stark cruelty of those devastating words so that she’d been obliged to read them over and over several times before she was able to accept their veracity. Then Livia had run to the bathroom and vomited down the lavatory pan.
It couldn’t be true. Surely such depravity was beyond even her father’s capacity, much as he enjoyed inflicting hurt on his three daughters. Yet there it was, in black and white. And as if to prove it, Maggie was dead. She’d preferred to take her own life rather than live with the consequences of what her own father had done to her. Livia couldn’t find words strong enough to express the
horror she felt at this discovery. Her lovely sister must have felt debased, corrupted, her young life ruined.
That very same day Livia had packed her belongings and left with only what she could carry in a Gladstone bag and a string parcel. She’d run from her childhood home in a state of shock, without even pausing to speak to her father. Unable to think where else to go and with no money of her own, no aunts or cousins to turn to, she’d come to Fellside, where Jessie and Jack had welcomed her into their home without the need for any explanation whatsoever.
Livia had made a pact with herself that day, vowing she’d keep this particular vile piece of information to herself, for now at least, until she could find the strength to decide how best to deal with it.
Her first reaction had been one of disgust and
mind-numbing
anger. She’d wanted to go in search of her father, to drag him from whatever debauchery he was indulging in while his youngest daughter had hanged herself, and force him to confess his crime. But then the anger had drained away leaving her spent and shaking with shock, far too overcome by grief to have the stomach for any confrontation with him right then.
But this was
incest
, for God’s sake!
The torment of her grief had very nearly destroyed her, her mind teetering on the brink of madness as Livia faced the reality of what that man had done to his own daughter. All those years in which she’d imagined she was protecting Maggie from his beatings, shielding her from the worst of his sick punishments. While all the
time… Livia could hardly bear to think of it.
She told herself to shut it out of her mind, to put it in a box and lock the evil away until she was able to deal with it. Livia thought she might never forgive herself for letting Maggie down so badly. But then why should she hold herself responsible for her father’s evil? She was but a young girl, ignorant of what had gone on. How could she have stopped him? Yet in her heart, Livia was convinced that she’d failed her vulnerable young sister. Why hadn’t she paid more attention when it was obvious she was troubled over something, when she was being sick? Why hadn’t she investigated further? Her own naivety was a bitter pill to swallow, and one she must live with for the rest of her life.
She considered rushing straight over to Ella, to tell her sister what she’d discovered and share the agony with someone who loved Maggie as much as she did. But somehow she couldn’t quite bring herself to do so. Hadn’t Ella enough to contend with? A cold husband and sterile marriage foisted upon her by that very same father, stepchildren who resented her presence in their home, and grinding hard labour on a farm out in the wilds. A life far from the luxurious one a frivolous young Ella had once dreamt of enjoying.
Livia decided that she really couldn’t burden her with more misery. Wasn’t grieving for the loss of her sister bad enough? The whole truth was far too dreadful and best kept secret, for now. Until one day it could be used against the person who really was to blame: their vicious, corrupt father.
A few short months after Maggie’s death, Josiah Angel was appointed town mayor. It made Livia sick to her stomach to see him preening himself in his new role. He wallowed in the sympathy of the townsfolk of Kendal, as if he wasn’t the one responsible for this terrible tragedy, and for the destruction of his entire family.
People talked, of course they did, puzzling over the whys and wherefores. They couldn’t understand why Maggie had chosen such a terrible path, why rumour had it one sister was deeply unhappy in her new marriage, and the other had run away from home.
Let them talk. Livia didn’t care what anyone said or thought. Although what they would have to say if they knew the whole story, she couldn’t begin to imagine.
From the day she’d walked out of Angel House, Livia felt that she was on her own, or would have been were it not for the generosity of the Flint family. For the rest of her life she would be eternally grateful for their kindness, despite the sight and smell of the place making her gag at times. They may be living in squalor, but her new friends at least had a code of morals way above those of her own, much richer, parent.
Jack Flint had become an important part of her life. There had been much flirting and covert sideways glances, and an acute awareness of him whenever he came into a room. They enjoyed laughing and talking endlessly together, content in each other’s company. And on Sundays, when Jack was free, they spent the whole day together.
Things had gone on this way for months. In the end
Livia realised that this attraction between them would remain unacknowledged unless she did something about it. Jack Flint, for all his confidence and pride, his courage when it came to fighting for his rights and protecting his family, was less certain when it came to crossing the boundaries of class. Unfortunately, he saw Livia as someone above him in status.
Livia knew she couldn’t grieve for ever, and Maggie wouldn’t wish that for her. And she could barely be in Jack’s presence for more than five minutes without wanting to touch him. Livia was mesmerised by him, dreamt of him day and night, ached to taste the heady sensation of his mouth moving over hers. Longed to be held in his arms and loved.
She made the decision that it was up to her to make the first move.
Livia chose a Sunday afternoon in late October, just twelve months after her beloved sister’s death. She suggested a walk over Scout Scar, from the top of which they would be able to enjoy wonderful panoramic views of the Lake District. To her delight, Jack agreed, and as she’d warned Jessie in advance of her little scheme, the older woman managed to deflect the children from begging to go too with the bribe of an ice cream if they’d walk with her by the river to the church and back.
It was one of those crisp, sunny autumn days when the leaves are proudly displaying their finest colours of russet, gold and saffron, and white clouds danced across a brilliant blue sky. A perfect Lakeland day.
The walk took them past Serpentine Woods, which
brought painful memories of the happy times Livia had spent there with her sisters, but she made no mention of those sad feelings now. This must be a happy day, and mark a new beginning in her life.
Skirting the woods, she led Jack up a steep incline then along a grassy path from which there was a good view over the town to the Howgill Fells and Whinfell. From here they traversed several fields, scrambled over walls and outfaced a few cows, Jack laughing at her nervousness as the animals plodded after them in typically curious fashion. After an hour or two of walking they reached the cairn at the top of the fell, and with the wind in their faces, turned to gaze back over the town nestling in the valley below, and at the vast panorama of mountains all around. Jack pointed out Coniston fells, High Street and Shap, Bowfell and Fairfield.
‘Would you ever live anywhere else?’ Livia sighed, feeling a swell of love and pride in her home country.
Jack said, ‘A man would give his life to protect such a land.’
Livia slipped her hand in his. ‘Don’t say such things. We won’t speak of death, not today, not any more. Only life and…’
He smiled knowingly at her. ‘And what?’
She laughed. ‘Come with me. I want to show you something.’
Spinning on her heel she ran up the hill, Jack racing after her, both giggling as if they were children. Breathless now, she stopped only when she reached an old iron kissing gate. It gave access to the open fell and a path
leading over the crest of Scout Scar. Leaning over the gate she demanded a kiss before she would let him through.
He laughed. ‘Is this what you wanted to show me, this kissing gate?’
‘It is.’
‘And this is the toll I must pay, just one kiss?’
‘And cheap at the price. Not that I am cheap,’ she corrected herself.
A shadow crossed his face. ‘No, Livia, no one could ever say you were anything but the finest quality. High class, and very beautiful.’
She smiled provocatively at him, her heart racing with the fear of rejection. What would she do if he turned away, if he didn’t ache for her as she ached for him? And then his mouth was on hers, his arms were tight around her and it was as if a whole cascade of emotion erupted inside her. Livia had never known such bliss, such complete happiness. Except that it was over far too quickly.
‘Oh, that wasn’t nearly enough. I should have demanded more. The toll has just gone up. The price today is two kisses.’
Jack chuckled. ‘Make it three if you like, or four, but no more while we’re standing here with this iron gate between us. Let me through, Livia, and you can name your price and I’ll double it.’
They found a sheltered spot beneath a stunted old thorn tree, and sat with their arms about each other. From here they could have admired the view south to the Lyth valley, to the Kent estuary and Morecambe Bay. Or
west to Coniston Old Man, Black Sails and Wetherlam. North to Kentmere, where Ella was even now preparing Sunday dinner for her husband and stepchildren. But they had eyes only for each other.
Jack was kissing her again, her eyes, her throat, her mouth, as if he would devour her. And Livia was matching his passion with her own. They fell back into the long grass and she gasped with pleasure when he slid his hand over her breast, wanting more, needing him, knowing this was the man she’d been waiting for all her life. Jack Flint.
She helped him to unbutton her blouse, revealing only a chemise and no corset. Livia had never been one to follow the rules.
Nothing would stop her from loving this man, certainly not an accident of birth, or her bully of a father. He may well be a humble working man, but he was worth two of the likes of Josiah Angel. She felt proud to know him, and while they took care not to have any unwanted repercussions from their coupling, Livia gave herself up to loving him without a moment’s regret.
From that moment, Livia made no secret of the fact that she and Jack were lovers. Since the gossip-mongers of Kendal assumed they were already living shamelessly together as man and wife, what did they have to lose? In any case, marriage, for the moment at least, was quite out of the question.
Livia would have been more than content to become Jack’s wife and live with him in a rented cottage
somewhere, with not a penny in her pocket and nothing but the clothes on her back. But Jack wouldn’t hear of it. He insisted they couldn’t marry until he’d gained promotion at the factory. He wasn’t earning enough yet to support a wife, or the children that would surely follow. They must be patient, he warned her. They must save up. Where was the rush?
In the meantime they were careful. They loved each other deeply and made the most of each precious hour, every single moment they had together.
Livia was aware there were other matters – more serious issues – still to be resolved with regard to her father. Not that she spoke of these to Jack. She did not allow herself to dwell on them much at all, knowing that the rumours of her love for Jack Flint would infuriate and offend her father to distraction.
There was some pleasure in that, at least, and one day she would have the satisfaction of getting justice for Maggie, she was sure of it. Her moment for revenge would surely come, one way or another.