Authors: Freda Lightfoot
‘Don’t worry about that, girl. All you require will be provided. Come along now, get on board. We don’t have all day.’
Mercy settled herself with some importance upon the leather seat while Miss Caraway firmly closed the door. She’d never travelled in so much as a wagon before, let
alone a fine carriage like this one with windows, and a proper roof to keep out the rain. Moments later the driver, who was standing behind the cab on some sort of ledge, flicked his whip and they were off, the horse
clip-clopping
along at a fine gait.
Mercy settled back in her seat unable to believe her good fortune as the cab drove through the crowded streets of Kendal town, forcing people to step out of the way and allow it to pass.
She couldn’t believe it. The interview had gone ten times better than she’d expected. A thousand times better. By heck, what would Jessie have to say when she heard about her being taken to her lodgings in a cab? If this was the sort of transport they used for staff, Mercy couldn’t wait to see where she’d be living, somewhere a lot better than Fellside, that’s for sure. And there were still the delights of the uniform to come. She must also remember to ask what her pay would be. Eeh, God bless Mam for revealing this long-held secret and making sure her future would be safe and secure. She’d fallen on her feet good and proper. It was all too exciting for words.
It was only when she reached her destination that Mercy realised quite how ruthless Josiah Angel really was.
Ella’s wedding followed a few weeks later at the unfashionable hour of twelve noon on a Friday in early May, and with very little jollity about it. No rose petals strewed her path to the church, no carriage with
high-stepping
horses, not even any pennies thrown to the town’s children from the church gate. But then Josiah Angel didn’t believe in wasting his hard-earned brass, particularly not to the scavenging poor. All of the local gentry were present, since Josiah was a man of stature in Kendal. The repast he provided: a selection of cold meats, bread, cheese and the smallest of wedding cakes, all laid out on trestle tables on the lawns at Angel House, was considered somewhat penny-pinching by many, although none would ever risk saying as much to his face.
The bride looked somewhat pale rather than blushing and blooming as brides were supposed to look on their wedding day, and wan in an outmoded wedding gown, its lace yellowed with age, probably having originally been worn by her mother.
The only person who seemed entirely happy with the proceedings was Josiah himself, who beamed triumphantly upon all and sundry.
‘It may well be the happiest day of Father’s life, but not dear Ella’s,’ Livia muttered behind her hand to Maggie. ‘Did you see the anguished glance she cast her new husband? How will she endure it?’
‘I shudder to think.’
Livia and Maggie watched with unashamed curiosity as Amos Todd moved among the guests, one hand clasped firmly to Ella’s elbow, as if to make sure he didn’t lose her at the eleventh hour. They noticed how his pale, some might say washed-out brown eyes carried no spark of interest, rarely showed expression of any kind, but maintained a polite disinterest throughout. It was almost as if he were nervous of meeting anyone’s gaze direct, save for when he spoke of his passion for his land and his animals.
‘Poor Ella,’ Livia whispered. ‘He looks terribly serious. I’ve never seen him smile yet. Imagine kissing that sour mouth, those dry, thin lips. Oh, Maggie, I’ve let her down. I promised Mamma that I’d take care of you both, and I’ve failed Ella completely.’
‘No, you haven’t. It’s not your fault, Livvy. There was nothing more you could do.’
‘But he’s so
old
! I believe he’s thirty-two,
twelve years
older than our Ella. And he’s so short and skinny!’
Amos Todd was barely two inches taller than his bride. A wiry man with large hands and feet, the kind of physique considered ideal for a hill farmer. He
wasn’t, Livia admitted, ugly as such, but nor could he be termed handsome. His face was plain and rather long, with ears that lay neat and flat to the side of his head, wearing an expression more sombre than joyful. Weather-beaten it may be, the cheeks bearing the ruddy hue typical of a man who spent his days out on the fells. Yet there was a blandness to it, a kind of serene calm, as if he’d resolved to remain untouched by the ills of life. By contrast, his hair, an indeterminate brown, was cut brutishly short, and Livia had an image of him sticking his head under a cold-water pump to wash it, something she could never imagine her demure sister ever doing.
He took out a handkerchief to mop his brow, revealing some of the strain he must be under. At least the handkerchief is clean, Livia thought, which brought a new concern into her head.
‘Is there a housekeeper or washerwoman at Todd Farm, or must Ella do all of the chores herself?’
Maggie frowned. ‘It’s quite large, hundreds of years old I believe, but Father insists she will have help. I’m not sure though that we can entirely trust him. I do worry that may not be the case. Amos is every bit as mean as Father, being a strict Methodist. How Ella will cope with a harsh, lonely life out on those fells at Kentmere, I dread to think. You know how lazy and spoilt she is, never doing a stroke unless forced to it.’
Livia tried to smile. ‘I dare say she’ll learn, if she must, as we all will. What is to be
our
fate, Maggie? Have you considered that? Father can beat me till I
expire, but I’ll not marry Henry Hodson. Never!’
Maggie sighed. ‘Oh, Livvy, don’t sound so fierce. You frighten me.’
Following the service and simple repast, a country dance started up in response to a neighbour tuning up an old fiddle. The assembled guests seemed determined to salvage something out of the day, even if the bride and groom themselves seemed not in the mood for celebrating.
The sun was beginning to drop in a hazy blue sky by the time Maggie and Livia hustled Ella upstairs to help her change for the journey. Not that the newly-weds were having anything so frivolous as a honeymoon. Livia asked why this was, as she unbuttoned the row of tiny pearl buttons down her sister’s back to allow Ella to carefully step out of the gown.
She explained that Amos could not leave his livestock, even for a day. ‘Cows still need milking and sheep tending, wedding or no.’
‘How very sad.’ Livia knew all too well that romantic Ella had once dreamt of a continental tour to Italy for her wedding journey.
‘I don’t care in the least,’ Ella said, her face pinched with despair. ‘The last thing I want is to be alone with that man.’ There was an edge to her voice as if she were on the verge of tears, and her two sisters quickly wrapped their arms about her to hold her close.
The night before as they’d sipped hot milk together for the very last time, outspoken Livia had bluntly asked her sister if she were a virgin still. ‘Even if it was a lie about
the pregnancy, did you and Danny ever…you know?’
Tears had formed on Ella’s lower lids, causing the grey-green eyes to shimmer and seem as fathomless as the sea. She had loved Danny Gilpin for two long years, ever since she was eighteen. But because he was only a humble groom they’d both known that Father would never allow them to marry. It had meant that their love must be kept hidden and their meetings take place in secret. The result had been that Ella had drawn a little away from her two sisters, occupying a world of romance and dreams. Now she was facing stark reality, and felt crushed by it.
She gave the smallest shake of her head. ‘I never dared. Oh, but I wish we had. I do so wish Danny had been the first. We were too afraid, too nervous of…of getting caught.’ A sob caught at her throat. ‘And now it’s too late.’
Maggie quietly asked, ‘You do know what will be expected of you, Ella? What will happen?’
A small nod, the lovely eyes wide with fear. ‘I do. Mama told me once, years ago.’
‘Don’t resist,’ Maggie warned. ‘It will only make it worse. It can be quite painful…or so I believe…the first time. After that, well, you get used to it. Close your eyes and think of—’
‘Of my darling Danny? No, I could never do that,’ Ella cut in. ‘It would be a sacrilege.’
Her father’s voice boomed up the stairs. ‘It’s gone four o’clock and you’d best be making a move if you’re to be home before dark.’
Ella felt panic rise in her breast. ‘
This
is my home. I
don’t want a new one. Oh, and I shall miss you both so much.’ She was trying hard not to cry, to hold fast to her failing courage, but Ella felt as if her heart were breaking in two. How would she survive without them, without Livia’s energy or Maggie’s sweet gentle comfort, both of them fussing over her like mother hens? Since the death of their beloved mother the three girls had formed a special bond, supporting each other through good times and bad.
‘Be strong,’ Maggie said. ‘Be brave. Don’t forget you’ll have his children for company. I’m quite sure they will love you, and you’ll come to love them as your own.’
Ella was silenced by this thought. She’d forgotten all about the children. How might they react to a new stepmother? She shuddered to think.
Maggie and Livia both put their arms around her, holding their sister close in a tight, we’ll-keep-the-
world-at
-bay sort of hug while Ella clung to them as if her life depended upon it.
Then she stepped bravely away, dried her eyes, striving to be as sensible as her newly acquired and very serviceable navy blue serge coat. She’d chosen it from a selection at the store for that very reason, as it would do well for chapel. Even so, Ella hadn’t been able to resist trimming the collar with a small pelt of grey fur, even if it was coney. Her matching navy hat bore a dashing flower with petals made from the same fur. Livia assured her that she looked as beautiful as ever, even if the coat wasn’t quite so stylish as the kind of outfits she usually wore.
‘Oh, my gloves. I’ve lost one of my new kid gloves. I was showing my going-away outfit to Mrs Crabtree in the parlour earlier. I must have dropped one.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Livia said. ‘I’ll run and find it for you. Wait here, and don’t you dare leave without saying goodbye.’
‘I won’t, I won’t, I swear!’
As expected, Livia found the kid glove behind the sofa in the small parlour, but as she turned to hurry upstairs to her sisters she saw a man’s face peering in at the back window, clearly not one of their guests. Incensed by this apparent invasion of their privacy on this special day, Livia marched outside to remonstrate with the intruder.
‘Miss Angel, would it be?’ the stranger bluntly enquired, with not a scrap of courtesy or good manners, and before she even had time to ask what he was doing in their back garden.
‘Indeed, and who might you be?’
The man dipped his head in a mocking bow. ‘Jack Flint, if you please. I dare say you’ll have heard of me.’
Livia’s mind ranged swiftly over various possibilities where she might have met him, all of which seemed highly unlikely. Yet as she studied him more closely, she found herself thinking that surely she would have remembered if she had. He was not a man one would easily forget, being disturbingly good-looking in a rough and ready sort of way. Judging by the wildness of his dark hair and the stubble on his jutting jaw, Livia supposed it must be some considerable time since he’d last visited a barber. He wore dark fustian trousers, a crumpled tweed jacket
that had seen better days, its collar turned up against a white silk scarf knotted loosely about his neck. The kind of clothing that very much set him apart from the rest of the wedding guests. Yet there was something about his stance, the proud tilt of his head, and the way he lounged before her with his hands in his pockets, that told her such sartorial matters were of little concern to him.
Seeing how she observed him, his dark eyes glimmered with amusement, showing he was all too arrogantly aware of his own masculine charm; the long aquiline nose, straight and true, giving him almost a condescending air.
Livia watched as the wide mouth with its full lower lip curled at one corner into a wry parody of a slow smile as each measured the other with studied carelessness.
In his turn he saw a woman who was tall and slender, shapely rather than the waif-like fragile females common among her class. No milksop beauty this, but strong and spirited, matching the fire that undoubtedly burnt within and revealed itself in the glossy glory of her titian hair. She possessed the most beautiful gentian eyes he’d ever seen, deeply fringed by dark lashes fanned out in
starlike
wonder as if she could see into a future she clearly intended to plan for herself. Her mouth was wide and softly curved as if smiling at some secret she held close to her heart. A woman you might like to dominate but could never own. And one who would most certainly never be dull.
‘I’m afraid I have no recollection of our ever having been introduced,’ Livia tartly informed him. To her
shame she realised that her response was really quite rude, sounding more like Ella in one of her pets than the supposedly more mature, sensible Angel sister. But the man’s attitude had, for some reason, rubbed her up the wrong way. His entire demeanour loudly proclaimed that he had no time to waste on niceties, and he clearly didn’t believe in showing respect for his betters.
The stranger stifled a snort. ‘Your father knows me well enough, since I’m a tenant of his. So if you wouldn’t mind telling him I’d like a quick word.’
It came to her then in a flash of inspiration who the man was, the facts rushing with clarity into her mind. Jack Flint had led those very same tenants of Fellside into a riot only last year – had, in fact, threatened to burn the place to the ground unless her father saw fit to reduce their rents. The riot had quickly petered out when Josiah had called the police, whereupon the rebels had scurried like rats back into their holes.
Livia was only too aware that her father was not a good landlord. No doubt his poor tenants had a just cause in that he was again threatening to raise their rents to unprecedented levels, but she could not approve of riot and arson. Such criminal acts achieved nothing.
She lifted her chin, stiffened her spine and looked the man straight in the eye; a gesture that took some effort on her part since he was considerably taller than herself. ‘You may not be aware,
Mr
Flint, but this is a private celebration. I don’t believe you were invited.’
He gave a low chuckle that sounded very like a
growl deep in his throat, and Livia realised that he was dangerously close to laughing at her.
‘I reckon you’re right there, but I’m sure you can forgive the inconvenience, since this could be termed a matter of some urgency. So go and tell him I’m waiting, love. My time is limited.’
Livia blinked. How dare this man, this rapscallion with bad manners and dubious origins
dare
to issue orders to
her
, never mind address her in such a familiar manner? Oh, dear, now she really was turning into snobby Ella. But if Father ever got his hands on this villain, he’d have the interloper thrown in jail.
‘I would not advise disturbing my father at this precise moment,’ she announced, cool but studiously polite. ‘You may be surprised to learn that he has far more important matters to attend to on this, his daughter’s wedding day, than to speak to the likes of you. And I am not
your love
.’ She couldn’t resist adding this last, although instantly wished she hadn’t when she saw how the remark made him smile.
‘So it’s not
your
wedding then, even though you are the eldest?’