Authors: Freda Lightfoot
‘You aren’t always right, Jack Flint. You don’t have to play Sir Galahad for me.’
‘Now there’s gratitude for you. I’ll remember not to bother next time.’ And he’d stormed off in a huff, slamming the door behind him.
Jessie had taken no part in this argument, nor chastised Livia for putting herself in such a vulnerable position. The poor girl had surely suffered enough already. She’d set about boiling water, calmly filling the hip bath and tenderly bathing her, ready to hold her close when she sobbed. But Livia hadn’t shed a single tear, not then or since.
Livia felt as if her whole world was falling apart, her life in turmoil. She was in danger of losing the man she loved, her father was controlling her life as much as ever, and she really didn’t know what to do for the best. Henry might have failed in his intention to impregnate her, but he’d certainly succeeded in driving a wedge between herself and Jack, one that seemed insurmountable.
It was, however, only too clear who was really to blame for all of this, who the real perpetrator of the crime was. The attack hadn’t been Henry’s idea at all. He’d been egged on by her father, had admitted as much even as he’d pawed at her with his fat, greedy fingers. Henry had been talked into using violence in order to get her pregnant, which he’d naively believed would compel her to accept that fateful walk to the altar.
There was no doubt in Livia’s mind that the root cause of all of this was her father’s need for money. Henry must
have some hold over him, some financial or political clout, or else her father needed a stash of cash to pay off some gambling debt or other. Livia was well aware of his weakness for gaming, to which it seemed she must now add a fondness for women too. And, in custom with his usual way of doing business, he was offering his own daughter as merchandise in return for some favour or other. No doubt he considered the exchange a fair bargain. Did he imagine she didn’t have the wit to understand how his vile mind worked?
But how to defeat him? That was the question. The only effective way must be to publicly denounce him and reveal to the people of Kendal what a debauched, depraved brute he really was. The question was, did she possess the necessary courage to take him on? And was there any hope that she’d win, or would she succeed only in destroying herself in the process?
Throughout the long days that followed, Livia was finding it increasingly difficult to keep up the pretence that nothing unpleasant had occurred. This dark unnamed fear seemed to grow inside her like a canker, and she couldn’t rid herself of a constant sense of unease and anxiety. She felt dirty, violated, even though she’d been spared the worst. She almost wished that she could cry, then she might dislodge this solid pain that seemed to have lodged itself somewhere below her breast bone.
And the peace she’d strived so hard to achieve following Maggie’s death was now lost.
Livia understood that she could have Henry charged with attempted rape, as Jack urged her to do. But she refused point-blank, and so they embarked upon their worst row yet.
‘Why do you protect him?’
‘I’m not, I’m protecting myself. I have no wish for my personal life to be bandied about, or appear in the gossip columns of some local rag.’
‘It’s
his
reputation that would suffer, not
yours
.’
‘Henry would claim that I’d led him on, that I’d wanted him really. Rampant for it, as he himself accused me of. He’d say that I’d changed my mind at the last minute but then I’d hit him with the plant pot without allowing him the chance to retreat. Then you came charging in, hell-bent on attack, when really he’d already backed off. He’d accuse you of losing your temper and refusing to stop and listen. It’s no good pretending otherwise, Jack. They’d believe him, not me.’
‘Rubbish. Not all men are like your precious Henry!’
‘He isn’t
my precious Henry
, and please don’t shout. So far as I can see, all men are exactly like my father. There’s no question that he is the one behind this latest plot. Men are despicable, bad-tempered and foul-mouthed, born bullies and bursting with aggression. And their view of women is low, the only consolation being that women generally hold men in even worse contempt!’
She had to stop to catch her breath after this outburst, but her bitter words etched deep sadness in his face. He made no attempt to defend his gender, as she continued with her point.
‘Consider how it will appear to anyone not aware of the true facts.’ Livia held out her hands as if to plead with him. ‘My father is supposedly grieving, having lost his youngest daughter in the most dreadful circumstances, yet I’ve left home and deserted him, for no reason anyone can quite understand. More shocking still, I’m having an affair with a man known for being a rabble-rouser, shamelessly behaving as if I were his wife when there is
in fact no ring on my finger. I am, in their eyes, a fallen woman.
‘Henry, on the other hand, is a respectable, prominent businessman in town. He owns a fine house where he lovingly cares for his widowed mother. Now who do you imagine they are most likely to believe? Forget it, Jack. It’s simpler to say nothing and let it pass.’
Josiah was suffering more than Livia might have appreciated. He sat in his office at the back of the store with his head in his hands, not knowing which way to turn. Both the bank and Hodson were pressing him harder than ever, his choices reduced to either allowing the one to foreclose or the other to take him over lock, stock and barrel. And all because of a lack of a bit of ready cash, some liquid funds to buy himself out of a hole.
All he needed was sufficient money to pay off the mortgage and overdraft at the bank, plus the extra loan he’d foolishly taken out with Hodson. Why was that so difficult?
Falling into Henry’s grasping, greedy hands had obviously been his undoing.
At two o’clock that afternoon, precisely on time, as promised, Henry called in to remind him that his patience was running thin. Josiah bluffed and blustered, insisting he needed more time, that he fully expected trade to pick up, and for his circumstances to improve.
‘I’ve recently been asked to stand for Parliament, for God’s sake,’ he bawled, pointing out that he was a man of stature in the town, a man who was going places. ‘I
feel sure I’ll be put forward for a knighthood next. I think you really should appreciate how very important I am.’
Henry merely smirked, then added insult to injury by calling him a has-been, a yesterday’s man, with no future of any consequence, so far as he could see.
Josiah was outraged by this evident lack of respect from the younger man, and instantly went on the attack. ‘How dare you speak to me in this manner, after all I’ve done for you? I’ve entertained you in my home, allowed you to court my daughter, acted like a father to you, for God’s sake. I cannot believe you allowed her to get away! Why didn’t you finish the job while you had the chance? Does red blood run in your veins, or only milk and water?’
This was not the first time Josiah had taken Henry to task over his failure to actually carry through his intentions and finish what he’d started with Livia. As on previous occasions, Henry refused to rise to the bait. He calmly placed his final demand on Josiah’s desk, and clearly stated his terms.
‘No bride, no further extension on the loan. I’ll take the business instead, Josiah, and make more of it than you ever could. You have till the end of the year, two months from now, to vacate the premises, that’s if the bank don’t get you first.’
It was as simple as that.
As Hodson walked away, a decided swagger to his step, Josiah could barely contain his anger. He was incandescent with rage. Unwilling to resort to fisticuffs, since he’d be sure to lose, he instead took out his ire by
sweeping everything off his desk in a fit of temper. He sent his letter tray, blotter, pens and pen holder, papers and ledgers, hurtling to the floor. Even the tray of tea and biscuits that Miss Caraway had brought them now lay in pieces on the rug.
Who did the fellow think he was, imagining he could walk in and take control of a person’s life, his business, even his home, and all because he’d defaulted on a paltry debt! The man was a charlatan.
But losing his temper solved nothing, and Josiah had to admit he’d put his case with more bluster than logical argument. He’d never felt so beleaguered, as if his entire life were teetering on the brink of collapse. He was about to lose everything he’d ever worked for. A lifetime of effort lost. It was as if all his worldly goods had been put up for auction, about to be sold off to the highest bidder whether he liked it or not. And for the first time, Josiah knew he was not in control of his own destiny. Worse, he felt bone-weary, defeated by events.
Josiah was also furious to discover that Mercy had arrived back in Kendal, apparently fit and well and with a young man in tow, who, rumour had it, might or might not be her husband. He’d spotted the pair of them walking arm in arm along Highgate and had been quite unable to believe his own eyes. If that little brat started gabbing then the last precious bricks of his entire empire would fall about his ears. He’d be done for.
In stubborn defiance, and wishing to cock a snook at the bank, Hodson, and his recalcitrant daughters, the whole flaming lot of them, Josiah issued a further eviction
notice, this time not just to the Flint family, but to every single occupant in Angel Buildings. He gave them the same terms that Henry had offered him. They had until Christmas to pay the new higher rent or get out. If he was going down, then he might as well take as many people as possible down with him.
The second eviction notice arrived later that same day, care of the weaselly little rent collector. Livia took it straight round to Mr Blamire, the family solicitor, her temper high as she slammed it down on his desk. ‘My father has no right to do this.’
The solicitor considered the notice with ponderous care. ‘I’m afraid he does, my dear.’
‘No, I won’t have it. Make him stop.’
The old solicitor sighed. ‘I’ll do my best, but he is within his rights to do as he pleases with his own property.’
The man had been their family lawyer for as long as Livia could remember, and always dealt with Josiah’s affairs. Now she begged him to persuade her father to allow Jessie and her friends more time to find alternative accommodation. To be fair, the man looked as if he’d had no prior notice of the eviction notice, and confessed that he had no personal knowledge of Mr Angel’s intentions with regard to the buildings he owned on Fellside.
Livia was adamant. ‘Whatever his intentions, he cannot be allowed to treat people in such a draconian fashion. I beg you to help.’
Perhaps it was because he’d always been entranced by those gentian eyes, that perfect heart-shaped face and
golden hair, or that he could still remember Livia as a small child smiling sweetly and thanking him politely for the mint humbug he would give her as she sat patiently waiting for her father to conduct his business. Whatever the reason, the old solicitor agreed to look into the matter for her, and naturally he wouldn’t dream of charging her a penny. Hadn’t he been the Angel family solicitor since time immemorial? Livia thanked him warmly, and was at last able to take her friends some real hope.
As a precaution, Livia went along to the town hall to ask about rooms to rent, and to the newly built Carnegie Library in case they too might have details of likely accommodation for the Flint family. Neither could offer any help other than the workhouse. Even the vicar had no useful suggestions to make beyond the obvious that she’d tried already, and Livia did not dare approach any of the charities in town over which the mayor held authority, since that would bring her into direct conflict with her father.
She was at least successful in helping them to launch their new business enterprise. Livia had sweet-talked Miss Caraway into buying some of Jessie’s hand-knitted sweaters, which seemed to be selling modestly well in the sports department. These were thick and warm and popular with walkers. It wasn’t enough, of course, as the profit on each garment was low, but it was a start. But they desperately needed to cut the cost of the basic material, the price of the raw wool still rising thanks to Henry’s meanness.
‘We need to buy direct from a farmer,’ George suggested. He and Mercy were also helping with the knitting, George more in the way of fetching and carrying, although he seemed quite handy on the loom. They were still desperately seeking a room of their own to rent, one that wasn’t running with damp or infested with cockroaches and vermin. Not an easy task, even in affluent Kendal, at the kind of rent they could afford to pay.
Livia thought this a good idea. ‘Ella is coming on Friday afternoon, and staying over until Saturday. Did I mention it?’
‘Only twenty times,’ laughed Jessie.
‘We could ask Amos. He might know of someone with good wool to sell.’
Livia was encouraging them to use a finer wool to knit fashionable cardigans and woollen jackets, and expressed a wish to one day see them invest in a knitting machine.
‘Woollens will always be in fashion and there’s absolutely no reason why you shouldn’t build yourselves a good little business in time, Jessie. Maybe enough work for Mercy and George too, in due course. Let’s hope the solicitor can keep Henry and my father off your backs. But we really must start looking for other outlets. Being dependent upon my father’s store is not a good idea. If he ever found out that Miss Caraway was buying goods from us, he’d put a stop to it at once. I might cycle over to Windermere or Ambleside, and ask around the shops there.’
‘That’s a fair ride,’ Jessie warned, looking concerned.
‘Particularly with winter coming on. I don’t reckon that’d be wise, not a woman on her own, on a bicycle.’
Livia frowned. ‘Oh, if only we had better transport, which we’ll need anyway for deliveries so far away. How I wish I had the wherewithal to help you all properly. I’d ask for a loan at the bank, except they’d be sure to tell Father.’
‘You’ve done enough; we’ll cope fine on us own,’ Jessie told her, busily directing her older children in the art of cable stitch.
Sadly, Jack was less appreciative of her efforts. He was barely speaking to Livia these days, let alone cooperating with her on the new venture. Since being dismissed by Hodson, he’d found himself a job labouring on the same building site where George was working. Not at all what he wanted to do, but the best he could manage in the circumstances. Hodson seemed to have blacklisted him not only from his own hosiery factory but from those of his competitors as well.
Today, he listened to the conversation between Livia and his mother in silence, then caustically remarked, ‘I can understand why
you
don’t fear ending up in the workhouse. Obviously the threat of dire poverty wouldn’t include you, one of the precious Angel girls. If things got really bad, you could simply swallow your pride and return home to your fine house at the top of the town. Or dear Henry might finally get his wish and you would agree to marry him after all.’
‘Stop it, Jack. Why are you behaving like this? I
hate it when you’re being deliberately cruel.’
He got to his feet, overwhelming the small loft suddenly with his glowering presence. ‘Then have the bloody man arrested, Livia! Prove to me that the girl I fell in love with still exists.’
‘I – I can’t.’
‘You mean you
won’t
! I believe you
are
in love with him after all.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’
Jack shook his head in disgust. ‘I never saw you as a snivelling coward,’ and turning on his heel, he walked out.
It near broke Livia’s heart for him to treat her with such cold disdain, as if he believed she’d deliberately welcomed Henry’s attentions. How could she convince him that charging Henry would only create greater problems for everyone?
Yet there was a doubt growing in her mind. What if Jack had a point? Was she indeed behaving like a snivelling coward? Was her reluctance to charge Henry with attempted rape really because she thought his word was more likely to be believed than her own? Or was it simply fear that held her back? Did she think there was a risk that Henry, or more likely her father, might possibly try to attack her again? What had happened to her ebullience, her confidence, her courage? Had her father and Henry together effectively destroyed her, after all?