Tangled Threads (25 page)

‘We’ll have to stay a night or two at a small hotel at first,’ she murmured to herself. Not for long though, she vowed, for it would be expensive. Maybe a temperance hotel
would be the answer. She smiled a little at the thought that her uncle would approve of her thinking, then pulled a wry expression as she remembered that he would have very little else to approve
of. She still had to face his anger for disappearing and losing herself in the city, and missing the omnibus home.

The two solid green doors were now both closed, but Eveleen pulled one open, passed through and pulled it to behind her. She paused a moment to take one last glance back at the name painted in
big letters on the doors. Now that they were both closed she could see the name of the factory and warehouse in full.

Reckitt and Stokes.

She felt a strange tremor run through her. Oh, it couldn’t be. Could it? Stokes was the surname of the man who had been her mother’s sweetheart. The man who had, so heartlessly, run
away from his responsibilities and left poor Mary to face the shame and humiliation alone.

It couldn’t be him. It was too much of a coincidence. And yet she remembered that her grandmother had said that Brinsley Stokes was in partnership in a factory in Nottingham now.

Eveleen, her mouth a tight line, stared at the name, almost as if it might come alive and materialize into the person himself.

‘Well, whoever you are, Mr Stokes, I’ll work for you,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll work as hard as I know how. But perhaps you’d better keep out of my way or I might
not be responsible for what I do.’

As she turned to hurry back to Broad Marsh, she realized that she would have to be very careful not to mention the name to her mother. And she would have to swear Jimmy to secrecy too.

When Eveleen returned to Flawford, no mention was made of where she had been and why she was so late home. A far worse storm had broken and her mother had been the cause of
it.

Mary, hearing Rebecca retching over the chamber pot in her bedroom, had remarked on it at breakfast.

‘I only asked,’ Mary wailed, spreading her hands in supplication to Eveleen as soon as she stepped into the cottage. ‘Was she ill? Was it something she’d eaten? Then I
laughed and said it sounded just like morning sickness. I was only joking, Eveleen, I never thought for one moment that she – of all people . . . But she turned as white as a sheet and burst
into tears. Then, of course, Harry—’

‘Don’t tell me,’ Eveleen said wearily. ‘He got it out of her.’

Mary nodded.

‘Where is he now?’

Mary plucked at her apron. ‘He’s – he’s gone to the chapel.’

Eveleen’s face was grim as she put down her bag, pulled her shawl about her shoulders and said firmly, ‘I’ll go and find him.’

‘Do be careful, Eveleen, I’ve never seen him in such a temper. Not ever – not even . . .’ Her voice faltered and she dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her apron.
‘Not even twenty years ago.’

Eveleen walked across the road and opened the door leading into the chapel. Closing it quietly behind her she stood a moment watching her uncle kneeling alone on the cushioned step in front of
the rostrum, his arms resting on the communion rail. His forehead was resting on his hands clasped tightly in prayer. Even from here she could hear his low murmuring. In front of him a vase of
flowers rested on the small communion table and towering above him were the dark polished panels of the pulpit with steps on either side. Resting on the top rail of the pulpit was the lectern with
the heavy Bible, still open at the page where the preacher had left it the previous Sunday.

As she watched her uncle, Eveleen felt a stab of pity for him. Rebecca was his only child, his beloved daughter. She was all he had left in the world and now, in his eyes, she was despoiled,
shamed and full of sin.

Eveleen crept forward and sat down in the family pew to wait until Harry had finished. She pulled one of the embroidered hassocks forward and knelt, bowing her head in a prayer of her own. At
once her vision of God came into her mind. He was stretching out his hand towards her and his face, though sad, was full of compassion. She prayed to him to give her strength, to give her the
courage to do the right thing and the common sense to know what that was.

She heard a movement and opened her eyes to see her uncle easing himself stiffly to his feet. He turned to look at her. For a long time they stared at each other. The sadness had etched another
ten years into his face in the space of a day, Eveleen thought, her heart going out to him. But there was no compassion in her uncle’s face, no understanding or forgiveness.

She began, ‘Uncle—’ but he raised his hand to stop her.

‘Don’t say a word, Eveleen, because there’s nothing you can say that can alter anything. Your mother has brought shame to my door again.’

‘My mother is not to blame for this. It’s Jimmy’s fault and – and Rebecca’s.’

He shook his head. ‘Not Rebecca. She was a sweet, innocent flower who would never willingly have allowed him to – to—’

‘Are you accusing Jimmy of – of . . .’ The word was too ugly, too appalling for Eveleen to utter, especially in this holy place.

‘He must have forced her. It must have been against her will.’

Eveleen stared. Then she realized that her uncle was twisting the truth to fit what he wanted to believe. He could not bear to think that his precious daughter could have committed such a sin
and the only way around that was to accuse her lover of rape. This was worse than even she had feared. Jimmy was in danger. Harry Singleton could have him arrested. Her heart began to thud
painfully. Perhaps he had done so already. Then she took hold of her wild thoughts. No, no, her mother would have told her at once if anything like that had happened. She would have been
hysterical.

Trying to speak calmly, Eveleen said, ‘We’ll leave at once.’

‘It would be for the best, Eveleen.’

She stood up and turned to leave but not before she had lingered a moment to say huskily, ‘I’m sorry, Uncle Harry. Truly I am.’

For a moment, his head was bowed. When he raised it she saw tears in his eyes. ‘Take Rebecca with you, Eveleen. I do not want to look on her face again.’

The lump that rose in Eveleen’s throat threatened to choke her. At that moment she did not know for whom she felt the sorrier, Harry Singleton or his daughter. He looked a lost, lonely and
desolate man.

‘It’s late now but we’ll be gone by Monday,’ she promised him.

He seemed about to say more but then, looking away, he nodded. As she moved out of the family pew, he took her place and she left him sitting there, alone in the chapel. As far as she knew, that
was where he stayed for the remainder of the night.

He could not bear to be under the same roof as the rest of his family.

Eveleen slept very little. She lay beside her mother in the attic room, staring into the darkness listening to every creak of the house settling itself for the night. Her
mother, too, was restless, tossing and turning and muttering in her fitful sleep. Below them, Eveleen could hear Rebecca moving about her bedroom. No doubt she was collecting her bits and pieces
together to leave. Every so often, she caught the muffled sound of the girl sobbing.

Throughout the following day, Harry did not return to the house and none of the family attended the Sunday services at the chapel.

Very early on the Monday morning, Eveleen knocked on the door of her grandmother’s cottage. She opened the door and called softly. ‘Jimmy, are you up?’

‘You can come in,’ Bridget called. Eveleen stepped into the room and was surprised to see her grandmother fully dressed and sitting in her chair by the fire. Then she realized that
Bridget had probably not been to bed the previous night either.

‘So, he’s found out then,’ Bridget said without preamble.

Eveleen sighed and sat down opposite her, feeling a pang of regret that this would be the last time she would be able to sit and talk to her grandmother. Despite her moods, Eveleen had become
very fond of Bridget. She didn’t even blame her – not any more – for not having the strength to stand up to her son and champion Rebecca. She was old now and frail. Though her
spirit was still there, Bridget was not as resilient as she might once have been.

What Eveleen could not forgive her for was that she had not stood by her own daughter all those years before.

‘He’s like his father,’ Bridget said suddenly. ‘Unforgiving.’ As if reading Eveleen’s thoughts, she went on. ‘I know you think I should have done more
to help Mary, but you didn’t know her father. John was a hard, Godfearing man. A good man, mind you, like Harry. No one can say he wasn’t. But he was unforgiving of anyone’s
weaknesses. To his mind, Mary had committed almost the worst sin possible that a woman can commit. If I’d stood up for her against him, I’d’ve had to leave with her.’ The
old eyes were looking straight into Eveleen’s now. ‘I had to make a choice.’

Eveleen nodded but could find no words to say except the same as those she had said to her uncle. ‘I’m sorry, Gran. So very sorry.’

‘It’s not your fault, love. I know that and so does Harry at the bottom of him, but he can’t admit it. It’s that no good brother of yours that’s to blame. Him and
Rebecca. She’s not so innocent as Harry would have us believe. Oh, I know what he thinks, but I have told him I don’t agree with him on that. She’s weak and imagines herself in
love with your Jimmy and she was daft enough to give way to his pestering.’ She nodded wisely towards Eveleen. ‘But you’ll have to make him toe the line now, girl, and face up to
his responsibilities, else he’ll bring yet more trouble your way.’

Eveleen nodded. ‘I know.’

‘I’m sorry to see you go. I was proud to have all my grandchildren around me.’ The old lady lapsed into silence and Eveleen knew that that pride had been cruelly snatched
away.

She sprang to her feet. ‘Jimmy,’ she called out harshly. ‘Get down here this minute. We’re leaving.’ She bent and kissed her grandmother’s papery cheek.
‘I’ll miss you, Gran,’ she said with a catch in her throat.

‘Aye, and I’ll miss you.’ For a moment Bridget clutched at Eveleen’s hand. ‘What’s to become of us, eh? What’s to become of us all?’

For the first time, Eveleen spared a thought for the old lady. There would be no one left here to care for her now. No doubt Harry would employ some girl from the village to cook and clean and
wash for him and his mother.

But it could never be the same for Bridget as having her own family around her. She had drawn strength from their youth and vigour and, despite the sharpness of her tongue, Eveleen truly
believed she had rejoiced in her daughter’s return.

They took the carrier’s cart to Nottingham rather than the omnibus. Between them they carried their personal belongings. At the last moment, Eveleen had hurried to the
workshop and snatched up the seat that Andrew had made for her.

‘I don’t know what you want to lug that thing about with you for,’ Jimmy muttered morosely.

Eveleen said nothing. She was so angry with her brother that she only spoke to him when it was absolutely necessary.

Their journey was a nightmare. Rebecca did nothing but sob and cling to Jimmy’s arm and Mary complained bitterly. ‘I don’t want to go to the city, Eveleen. I want to go home.
Back to Bernby. We were happy there. Take me home, Eveleen.’

The words seemed to echo round and round in Eveleen’s mind. The promise she had made to her mother was going to be harder to achieve than ever.

As they alighted from the cart, once again in Broad Marsh, Eveleen asked the driver, ‘Do you know of any cheap hotels where we could stay? Only for a couple of
nights,’ she added hastily.

‘Not that’d be suitable for ladies, mi duck.’ The man pondered a moment and then added, ‘You’d do better to go to one of the working girls’ homes.
There’s one or two of them.’ He glanced at Jimmy. ‘Don’t know if they’d take him, though. He might have to try the Young Men’s Christian Association.’

‘Not bloody likely,’ Jimmy muttered and Eveleen gave him a sharp nudge.

‘Wash your mouth out and shut up. You’ll do as you’re told for once.’

Jimmy glowered and, though he said no more, Eveleen noticed that he pulled his arm free of Rebecca’s limpet hand causing the girl’s sobs to grow louder.

The carrier cast a strange look at Jimmy but turned back to Eveleen. ‘I reckon they have a house of refuge on Chaucer Street. He could try there, but it’s a fair step. Right the
other side of Market Place.’

Eveleen did not even know where Market Place was, but she was sure they could find it.

‘Where is there a working girls’ home? We’ll try there first.’

‘That’s easier. There’s one in Castle Gate. Go along here to the end of Broad Marsh.’ He pointed in the opposite direction to that which Eveleen had walked with her
uncle. ‘Turn right and then left and that’s Castle Gate. I’m not sure where the house is exactly, but you can ask then.’

‘Thanks,’ Eveleen said. ‘Thanks very much.’

The man glanced round at them and, seeming to catch something of the atmosphere of misery and desperation, he murmured, ‘Good luck, mi duck.’

‘Thanks,’ Eveleen said again and added, under her breath, ‘I’m going to need it.’

As Eveleen hitched up the baggage she was carrying and began to lead the way along the street, Jimmy said, ‘I aren’t staying in no Christian place. I’ve had enough of ranters
to last me a lifetime.’

Eveleen dropped her belongings to the ground, whirled round on him and gripped his shoulders. She shook him hard, ‘It’s your fault we’re in this mess. You’d do better to
try to help—’

‘It’s not Jimmy’s fault,’ Mary said rousing from her apathy. ‘Don’t blame him. I won’t have you blaming him.’ Her glance went to Rebecca and then
came back to rest on Eveleen. ‘It’s your fault, Eveleen, bringing us here in the first place.’ And, unspoken, other words lay between them. And it was you who caused your
father’s death.

Mary linked her arm through Jimmy’s. ‘Never mind her. You’ll look after me, Jimmy, won’t you?’