The first major pricking of the bubble came mid afternoon on her birthday. Encouraged by Polly, Croft had visited the Hendon hirings – which were held in a certain street in Hendon each week – after Christmas, with strict orders from his mistress to hire two men with families for the two vacant cottages – Emily having moved in with Betsy permanently. Men who were down on their luck, Polly had emphasised firmly, with families who needed a good home. And he must be fair and explain the farm was only just out of quarantine.
Both the men Croft hired had had to place their bairns in the workhouse whilst they and their wives looked for any work they could get, so their joy at being reunited and in secure work along with being housed and fed had warmed Polly’s heart.
She had asked Croft to put a letter through Luke’s door before he went to the hirings, a short formal note thanking him again for attending Frederick’s funeral and stating that although he was very welcome at the farm they all quite understood that, what with the atrocious weather and all, he would be unable to visit them for some time. She had felt, thinking about it afterwards, that he had felt sorry for her that Saturday before Christmas, and that was why he had made the journey to the churchyard, rather than out of respect for Frederick. And she didn’t want him to feel sorry for her – her whole spirit recoiled from it. She wanted . . . Well, what she wanted was impossible and that was the end of it. But his pity was untenable. Hence the note.
After being in a state of restless anxiety for days after Croft had delivered the letter, she had finally come to realise and accept that there was going to be no reply. She had cried in the privacy of her room, bitter hot tears for the unfairness of the circumstances she found herself in and not least the cruelty of fate in causing her to love a man who regarded her as a dear friend, maybe a sister, but nothing more. And then she had dried her eyes, wiped her nose, put any fanciful dreams under lock and key and got on with things.
So she was outwardly calm and composed, and inwardly a mass of jelly, when at half past two in the afternoon on her birthday there was a knock at the front door, and a few moments later Emily put her head round the sitting room door where Polly and Ruth were sitting – Polly patching a couple of sheets which were still too good to use for rags, and Ruth darning some socks for Croft’s children. ‘It’s Mr Luke, missus.’ And there he was in the doorway.
Polly’s heart was racing and she made herself take a deep breath before she said, ‘Luke, what a surprise. Come in,’ as Ruth leapt up at the side of her, crying. ‘A visitor! We feel as though we’ve been buried alive for months with this terrible weather. Thank goodness we’re nearly into May.’
‘Aye, thank goodness.’ Luke smiled at Ruth, and he was conscious of thinking for a second, By, she looks a different lass, before he turned his gaze on Polly. And then, as she rose to her feet, there was something in her face – almost a defiance – that brought a puzzled crease to his brow the second before his eyes dropped on her gently rounded stomach. No! It wasn’t possible. She couldn’t be. He hesitated, his jaw bones moving in and out before he could say, ‘Are you both well?’
‘We’re very well.’ Again it was Ruth who answered, her tone gay as she continued, ‘Oh, this is lovely, Luke. Have you called to wish Polly a happy birthday?’
He nodded, his colour rising as he quickly pulled a small package from his pocket, saying, ‘I’m sorry, I should have given you this at once. Happy birthday, Polly.’ He knew he should have stayed away – hadn’t she all but told him to in that letter after Christmas – but it had got so he’d felt he was going stark staring barmy and would be fodder for the asylum if he went one more day without setting eyes on her. It wasn’t fair of him, no one knew that better than him after what his brother had done to her, but in the end he hadn’t been able to help himself. He’d had to come, and her birthday had been the perfect excuse.
‘Oh, thank you, thank you, but you shouldn’t have. I didn’t expect . . .’ Polly’s voice faded away as she opened the little box and saw the small silver brooch it contained. The tiny bird was delicate, its open wings worked in lacy, threadlike skeins of silver which was quite exquisite.
Luke watched her colour come and go, and his voice was quiet when he said, ‘Think of it as flying upwards, Polly, with the sun on its wings and the heavens to soar in; the earth with all its evil and heartache left far below.’
She raised her head and their eyes held as the message behind his words reached her, and then Ruth’s voice broke into the moment as her sister said, ‘Arnold is not with you, then? Has there been news of him?’
Luke was aware of Polly making an almost imperceptible start of distress, and he spoke quickly now, and loudly, as he said, ‘Nothing, I’m afraid, Ruth. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be.’ The warm smile Ruth gave him further surprised Luke, and his face reflected this, which caused Polly – in spite of her agitation – to want to smile. This new relationship with Ruth was precious but no longer a surprise to Polly; she knew Ruth had really changed – and so did their mother. As far as Hilda was concerned, Ruth’s defection to Polly – which was the way her mother viewed it – was a further nail in Polly’s coffin.
‘Right.’ Luke was clearly out of his depth and both women recognised this. It was Ruth who took pity on the good-looking miner and said, ‘You sit down by the fire, Luke, and I’ll go and see about a tray of tea for us all. Talk to Polly – you know there’s going to be a happy event in August?’ as she bustled out of the room.
There was a long silence after Ruth had disappeared, an uncomfortable silence, before Polly said, ‘Do sit down, Luke, and I love the brooch. It’s beautiful.’ And then, when he remained standing, she forced herself to meet his eyes again, and what she saw in them caused her to blush scarlet as she said, ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about . . . about the baby, but Ruth just assumed you knew.’
‘Tell me it isn’t what I think.’ It was deep and guttural and seemed torn out of him.
‘I . . . I don’t know what you mean—’
‘I can count, Polly.’ His face was ashen. ‘Tell me it is your husband’s child and not . . . his.’
She could lie. She could lie and cover this all up and then they could talk politely about this and that and he would leave not knowing. But she couldn’t. She had lied once before to Luke when she had said she was happily married, but now the time for untruth was past. She raised her head proudly, her eyes like blue diamonds and her chestnut hair with its fiery lights glowing like the flames in the fire, and said steadily, ‘Frederick and I had not slept together in the sense you mean from the first year of our marriage, Luke. There was nothing left between us; in fact, there never had been anything between us of a romantic nature, to be honest. I married him because there was no other option at the time; the farm was bankrupt and my grandda owed Frederick massive debts. He . . . he would have put them in the workhouse if I hadn’t become his wife.’
Luke’s face had lost every ounce of its normally ruddy colour and he was staring at her as though he had never seen her before.
He thought she was bad, Polly thought wildly. He thought she was bad to marry Frederick just to save her family, to give herself to a man she didn’t love. And now he knew she was carrying Arnold’s child he was repulsed further. Nevertheless, she forced herself to go on. ‘It . . . it wasn’t a happy marriage, and when he left me to walk home alone the night of the storm out of a fit of pique and Arnold attacked me—’ She drew in a deep, shuddering breath before continuing. ‘Well, I decided Frederick could make some poor recompense for his actions when I discovered I was expecting a child, a child his maliciousness had brought into being. His will stated everything was to go to my mother unless there was a child of our marriage, so –’ she lifted her chin higher – ‘a child there was.’
He was stunned, consumed with the anguish that was causing him to sweat through every pore of his body. And angry, bitter and angry, although he wasn’t sure if it was Frederick or Arnold he most desired to vent some of this rage on. But no, that was rubbish, he knew all right. He burned at nights in his own particular hell when he thought of Arnold’s hands on her, forcing her. It turned him inside out, and the only relief he got was knowing Arnold was where he couldn’t hurt her any more. But he was still hurting her. A bairn . . . He mentally bludgeoned himself for his stupidity. Why hadn’t he thought something like this might result from Arnold taking her down? But he hadn’t. It simply hadn’t occurred to him. And all this,
all this
against a background of having lost the one man she’d ever loved, Michael. He felt a sense of awe at the sheer strength of her that seemed to compound the hopelessness of his love.
‘So now you know.’ She was standing very stiff and straight. ‘Do . . . do you despise me?’
‘Despise you?’
It was in the nature of a growl. ‘For crying out loud, Polly, how could you think I’d despise you? Admire you, wonder at your strength, marvel at your goodness, be amazed at the extent of your sacrificial love, worship you—’
He hadn’t meant the last words to slip out, and as he saw her lovely eyes widen he said quickly, ‘Please, Polly, don’t be frightened,’ and somehow he found himself drawing her down to sit beside him on the sofa as he held her hands gently in his, mindful of what she might be feeling at a man’s touch after what had happened to her. He could feel her trembling through the fingers resting in his, and it took all his will power not to draw her soft body into his arms to reassure her. Only he couldn’t trust himself, not where Polly was concerned, he warned himself grimly. And the last thing he wanted to do was to cause her further distress.
‘Polly.’ His voice had a cracked sound, and he cleared his throat before trying again. ‘Polly, you’re not alone, do you hear me? Oh, I know you’ve got Betsy and Ruth – do they know about that night? What really happened?’ And after she’d shaken her head, her liquid eyes fixed on his face, he continued, ‘I know you’ve got them, but if at any time you need anything, anything at all, I am here for you. Do you understand me? I don’t want you to think—’ He cleared his throat again. ‘I don’t want you to think all men are like Arnold or Frederick. They’re not, sweetheart.’
It was the last words, spoken with such gentleness, that caused Polly to moan softly as the tears she had been fighting to contain spilled out of her eyes. He cared for her, she’d read it in his face and she wasn’t wrong, she wasn’t. But she couldn’t tell him how she felt until after the baby was born and she was free to leave her old life and every reminder of it, including his brother’s child. And then, if he really wanted her – just her without the farm and all it entailed – the future would be his to declare. It was the only way any relationship between them would have a chance with all that had happened. And there was still Arnold. The roads were almost clear now, and although the snow was still banked high in a few places it would be gone within days. It was better there was no link between them for others to speculate about until all that was finished with.
She had been resting against him as she’d wept, her head buried in his shoulder, but now she pulled away and rose to her feet. She pulled her handkerchief from the belt of her dress and wiped her eyes before saying, her voice low and contained, ‘I’m sorry, please forget this happened. I . . . I’m not myself today.’
She was as far out of reach as she had ever been. And he was a fool. Luke’s stomach muscles tightened but he merely nodded quietly before rising himself and walking across to the fire, one hand resting on the mantelpiece and his back to the room as he stared down into the flames. And they remained thus until Ruth returned with the tea tray.
So that was the way of it! As Hilda scurried back to her room, she blessed the impulse that had driven her downstairs minutes before. From her vantage point at her window overlooking the front garden she had seen Luke arrive, and had thought to ask him of news of Arnold, but on hearing the low murmur of voices from within the sitting room she had peered through the partly open door to see Polly cradled in Luke’s arms.
For some moments she had continued to stare through the thin gap at the woman she hated with an intensity that was second only to the feeling she had had for her husband, before quickly retracing her footsteps before she was discovered.
Now she knew, she
knew
who was the father of Polly’s child – Luke Blackett, a low, ignorant, common miner! Hilda’s teeth ground together. The unfairness of her situation, the injustice of it, had eaten into her very being these last months – she had felt ill constantly, unable to rest properly or eat – and those two down there were the perpetrators of all her misery, Hilda told herself with self-righteous fury. That
harlot
and the man poor Frederick had always disliked. It had only been the knowledge that her day would come which had enabled her to keep calm in front of them all and pretend she had accepted her lot. God was just, and His justice would prevail – she had known it all along. He wouldn’t be mocked, and what was adultery but spitting in the face of the Almighty?
Like father, like daughter. Hilda’s thin lips were two straight lines in her bitter face. The pair of them, rotten through and through, and over the last months it had become apparent that Ruth was tainted by the same bad blood. Changed out of all recognition, Ruth had, but before long her younger daughter would see how foolish she’d been to throw her lot in with Polly. Oh, yes. But she had to think about how best to play this.
Hilda reached the door to her quarters, her mind racing. For years she had lived under the shadow of great personal indignity through the heinous crime her husband had committed, which had come to light through that, that
baggage
down there. But for her elder daughter enticing Michael to ask her to marry him, no one would have been any the wiser as to the lad’s parentage.