But then he realised he had almost spoiled the moment, so returning his attention to the child, he pointed to the little pools of spilt milk on the floor of the cart. ‘Will ye look at that! You know what that means, don’t you, eh? Well, I’ll tell ye. It means the cat will have it, and give it to the kittens, and that’s why the kittens are able to see in the dark. I bet you didn’t know that, eh? I bet you didn’t know it was Daisy’s magic milk that made all the cats see in the dark?’
Emily laughed. ‘Give over, Danny Williams! What should we do with you, eh?’
As his gaze fell on her upturned face, he was about to say, ‘Marry me, that’s what you should do with me.’ Instead, he laughed with her. ‘It’s true!’ he protested. ‘Daisy herself told me – and she’s never lied to me before.’
Now, as he poured a small measure of milk into the palm of his hand and gave it to a stray cat who had grown wise to his daily treat, the tiniest of smiles lifted the corners of Emily’s mouth. There was no denying he brought a measure of sunshine and joy into their lives, she thought. With that mop of wavy dark hair and those laughing grey eyes he had such charm and sincerity, and a way that instantly endeared him to both animals and children alike.
In fact, throughout the village of Salmesbury she knew of no one who had a bad word to say about him. There were plenty of lasses who fancied him, though.
Suddenly, Danny hopped down from his seat. ‘I’ve yet to pass the time o’ day with your old gramps,’ he reminded Emily. ‘That’s if your mammy doesn’t mind?’
‘I’m sure that’ll be fine.’ Emily was glad he wasn’t rushing away, though time was wasting and she would soon have to get on with her own work. There were so many chores still to be done, it left little time for socialising. ‘He’s always glad to see you,’ she said. ‘You leave him chuckling every time, and we’re all grateful for that.’
He gave her a sideways glance. ‘The village clown, that’s me.’
Emily was horrified, and put him straight at once. ‘You’re nothing of the sort! You’re a warm, intelligent man who’s full of the joys of life, and somehow you always manage to make a person feel good.’ Smiling up at him, she told him from the heart, ‘It’s a real gift you have, Danny. And you seem to be the only one who doesn’t realise it.’
When he smiled back, it was a free and easy smile that spoke volumes. ‘So, there’s hope for me yet, is there?’ His words carried a mixed message and Emily was quick to pick up on it. So, instead of answering, she hastened her steps and got to the farmhouse door before him.
His voice followed her. ‘So there’s
no
hope – is that what you’re saying? Aw, you’re a wicked woman, Emily Ramsden, a wicked,
wicked
woman!’ He feigned desperation. ‘Aw, come on now. Give us a kiss and we’ll say no more.’
Suppressing her laughter, Emily rushed inside, and almost fell in the sitting-room door.
‘Good God, lass!’ On her knees, Aggie had been cleaning out the fire-grate, and as she looked up, the small shovelful of cinders tumbled to the hearth. ‘Whatever’s the matter?’ By now, Emily had dropped the child on the sofa and was heartily chuckling. ‘What’s tickling you, eh?’
Composing herself, Emily explained. ‘Danny’s behind me. He wants to see Gramps before he leaves.’
Aggie smiled knowingly. ‘Oh, I understand. And I suppose he’s been weaving his magic on you and the bairn, has he?’
‘You could say that,’ Emily answered. ‘Sometimes I wonder if he’s not mad as a hatter.’
‘Oh aye, lass, he
is
mad,’ her mother agreed. ‘Mad on you and the bairn, that’s what.’
Afraid she and her mammy were about to get into a deeper conversation, Emily changed the subject. ‘Is it all right then, if I take him up to see Gramps?’
‘That is, if it’s no trouble.’ Danny came to the doorway.
‘It’s no trouble at all, and well you know it,’ Aggie chided. ‘What! Tom Isaac would never forgive me if I let you leave without seeing him.’ Pointing a blackened hand towards the stairs she told Emily, ‘Go on then, lass. Take him up, and take the child with yer. Your grandad’s been asking after her.’
While Aggie continued with cleaning out the grate, Emily climbed the narrow winding stairs to the upper part of the farmhouse. Behind her came Danny, who insisted on carrying little Cathleen, who all the way entwined his hair round her tiny finger, until he feared she’d soon have it out by the roots. But he didn’t mind. In fact it gave him a comforting, fatherly feeling.
The old fellow must have heard them tramping up the stairs because when they entered his room, he was already struggling to sit up. ‘Easy now, Gramps!’ Rushing forward, Emily helped him get comfortable. ‘How’s that?’ Plumping up the bolster, she made sure his back was properly supported. ‘Comfortable, are you?’ Aggie had lit a fire in the little grate earlier, and the small bedroom was warm.
‘Stop fussing, woman!’ Visibly thinner, his face deeper-lined by the passage of time, Thomas still had fire in his eyes and a sharp tongue when needed. But now as he spoke to the child, his eyes softened and his arms opened to take her. ‘An’ what ’ave you been up to, young ’un?’ he asked with a crinkled smile. ‘Been out there feeding the birds, ’ave yer?’
Danny put the child into his arms, where she sat for a while, looking up at the old man and chuckling at whatever he said, even though she didn’t really understand half of it.
A few moments later when he seemed to tire, Emily gently collected Cathleen into her arms. ‘You and Danny have a chat,’ she suggested, ‘while I go and make you a brew.’ She knew how much he loved to be alone with Danny, when the two of them would talk about things only men appreciated.
‘Aye, go on then, lass,’ he replied. ‘An’ see if Aggie’s got any o’ that bread-puddin left an’ all.’ He licked his lips. ‘By! Your mammy meks the best bread puddin in the whole world!’ He pointed to Danny. ‘While you’re at it, lass, you’d best fetch your young man a helping an’ all.’
Being referred to as Emily’s ‘young man’ put a smile on Danny’s face, but Emily made a mental note to correct her grandad’s thinking once Danny was gone.
‘I wouldn’t say no to another cuppa, but I’m full o’ those tasty muffins,’ Danny said politely, rubbing his tummy appreciatively.
With Emily out the door, Danny told the old fella, ‘That was wicked of you.’ He wagged a finger. ‘You know very well I’m not her young man.’
Thomas gave a sly little chuckle. ‘Mebbe not. But you’d like to be, wouldn’t you, eh?’
‘You know I would,’ Danny told him.
‘And have you asked her?’
‘I have. Time and again, on my knees, on my feet, and even once with my face covered in Cathleen’s chocolate.’
‘So what did she say?’
‘What she always says.’
‘I see.’ The old man nodded knowingly. ‘She’s still hankering after John Hanley, is that it?’
‘She loves him, that’s why.’ Danny envied John that kind of love, especially when he’d been away so long and in his opinion didn’t deserve such loyalty.
The same thoughts invaded the old fellow’s mind. ‘Where the devil is that young scoundrel, that’s what I’d like to know!’
Danny could see how the old man was in danger of getting too excited. ‘That’s not for us to know, and not for me to comment on,’ he said guardedly.
The old man didn’t agree. ‘Ah, well now, that’s where you’re wrong!’ he declared. ‘That young bugger will get the length o’ my tongue if he ever does come back, I can tell you! What kind of a man is it that gets a young girl with child, then goes off to Gawd knows where and never a word in over two years.’ His voice shook with anger. ‘Like my own cowardly son, he’s run for his life, that’s what he’s done. By! They’d neither of ’em best come back to these parts in a hurry, because they’ll ’ave me to deal with, I can tell yer!’
‘Take it easy, Tom.’ Afraid he was working himself up to fever pitch, Danny changed the subject. ‘I’ll tell you what though,’ he said, ‘I reckon you’d give anybody a run for their money, eh? What!’ Clamping a hand over the old man’s now clenched fist, he feigned admiration. ‘You’ve a fist like a hammer. They tell me you were a bit of a fighter in your time, is that right?’
‘Oh, aye!’ Tom’s proud old eyes were alight with memories. ‘They said I were one o’ the best street-fighters around. It got so they couldn’t get any man to stand against me. It were a shame, but once the police got on our trail, we had to move into ’fficial premises. After that it all got too organised like. Above board and proper, if yer know what I mean? All Queensberry rules and regulations.’ He shook his head woefully. ‘It were never the same after that.’
Danny knew the story well. ‘I’ve heard it from my da time and again,’ he revealed. ‘He loves to talk about it; raw fighting in the back alleys and such. “Skin and blood up the walls and bits o’ flesh under the feet,” that’s how he puts it. Then how it changed when the authorities took over. Mind you, according to him, there was corruption by the bucket-load, even in higher places!’
The old man nodded enthusiastically. ‘Oh aye, that’s true enough. By! There were some bad buggers behind the scenes. The old way were the best though – big money changing hands at the drop of a hat; men facing up to each other on impulse, bare-backed and wound up so tight they’d fight till they dropped. I’ve known men go down and never come up again, and others would walk away and leave ’em there. No rules nor regulations then. No ropes nor bells. Just bare knuckles and raw courage.’
Danny chuckled. ‘Men were men and to hell with all the rigmarole!’
Thomas Isaac smiled, his heart heavy with nostalgia. ‘They were the good days,’ he mused. ‘Days when you knew who your friends were and if called on, you’d put your own life on the line for a mate.’
Danny saw the tears gathering. ‘There are still men like that,’ he told him. ‘Although mebbe they’re not so thick on the ground.’
‘Mebbe!’ The anger returned. ‘But there’s more evil bastards than there are good ’uns!’ Lowering his voice, he said vehemently, ‘There’s one bugger right ’ere under this roof. If I were twenty years younger, I’d do for him tomorrow, so I would!’
Danny nodded his understanding. ‘I know who you mean,’ he said quietly. ‘But there’s nothing to be gained by tormenting yourself.’
‘Aye, I know that.’ The old man glanced at the door again. ‘By! He’s a bad bugger, is that one though!’
Danny let it be known, ‘I wish there was something I could do, but there isn’t, more’s the pity.’
As always, the old man had the answer. ‘Marry the lass, then it’ll gi’ you the right to be rid of him.’
Danny shook his head. ‘I can’t marry her against her will, Tom, and well you know it.’ One way or another he believed he’d got the full picture of what was happening here at the farm. ‘And even if Emily did agree to marry me, it isn’t as simple as all that, is it?’
The old man knew that was only too true. ‘Happen not,’ he conceded. ‘The truth is, that bastard’s got us tied up every which way.’
‘Don’t lose heart, though,’ Danny counselled. ‘Folks like him will always come undone in the end. Be patient. It’ll all come right, you’ll see.’
Every time he and the old man were alone together, the matter of Clem Jackson came up. It was a torture to the old man, and apart from offering money, Danny couldn’t see how he might interfere where his offer of help had already been rejected.
The old man seemed to read Danny’s mind. ‘If you and our Emily were wed, it would put a spoke in his wheel. You could find out things. You’d have a certain right, d’yer see?’
With a careful choice of words, Danny had to stop it right there. ‘We’re not wed, Grandad, and, unfortunately, not likely to be. So it might be best if we don’t get down that road. Let’s leave it at that, eh?’
In fact, they had little choice, because now Emily was back, with a tray containing a dish of cold bread pudding and two mugs of tea. ‘I hope you are ready for this, Gramps,’ she said, her quick smile lighting up the room. ‘Mam’s given you a helping and a half, although she says it’s a funny sort of a breakfast.’ She set the tray down before making good her escape. ‘Mam’s baking and Cathleen’s asleep. I’ve got a pile of washing bubbling in the copper, so I’d best be off.’ With that she was across the room and out the door.
‘I’ll pop in and see you before I leave!’ Danny called out, and from somewhere down the stairs came a muffled reply.
‘Ask her while she’s up to her armpits in soapsuds,’ the old man suggested with a wink.
‘You won’t give up, will you?’ Danny laughed. And neither will I, he thought.
Because, as sure as day followed night, he would keep asking Emily to be his wife, until in the end she had to agree.
Ten minutes later, feeling all the better for this break, Danny called in on Emily as he had promised.
The girl was not up to her armpits in soapsuds, as the old man had predicted. Instead she had already lifted the clothes out of the copper boiler with the wooden tongs and was in the middle of rinsing them in the big sink. The small stone outhouse was thick with steam erupting from the copper, and Emily’s face was bright pink from the heat.
‘Here, let me do that!’ Dodging the many clothes-lines stretched criss-cross from one end of the outhouse to the other, Danny made his way through to her.
As Emily fought to wring out a huge bedsheet, he took hold of it and without effort fed it through the mangle and then folded it and draped it over the line. He looked at the growing mountain of damp clothes on the wooden drainer. ‘Do you want me to stay and help?’ he asked hopefully.
She thanked him, but, ‘You get off now and finish your rounds,’ she suggested graciously. ‘I’ve almost done here.’
He hid his disappointment. ‘These bedsheets weigh a ton when they’re wet,’ he remarked.
Knowing he would linger all day if she encouraged him, Emily was adamant. ‘I’m used to it,’ she said. ‘If I had help, I’d lose the routine and it would only take longer in the end, if you know what I mean?’
Grudgingly, but with a ready grin, he bade her goodbye. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then?’
‘I’ll look forward to it,’ she said. And that was the truth.
Coming to the door of the outhouse, she waved him away. You’re persistent, I’ll give you that, she thought kindly. Somewhere, there’s a woman who would give her right arm to be your wife. I’m sorry, Danny, but it’s not me. Without even being aware that she’d been thinking it, the words fell out. ‘More’s the pity.’