Twisted Strands (42 page)

He took her hand and held it against his cheek. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said hoarsely.

Bridie laid her cheek against his hair, the lump in her throat growing so that she felt as if it would choke her. And though her voice trembled as she spoke, her words were full of bravery.
‘Never mind. I’m still going to take care of you. At least until you’re quite well again. You’re – you’re not going to get rid of me that easily.’

Eveleen had arranged for Fred Martin to take Bridie and Andrew home to Flawford.

‘I must stay with Richard,’ had been her excuse for not taking them herself.

The yard was strangely quiet as they opened the gate.

‘Funny,’ Andrew murmured, pausing to listen. ‘There’s no sound from the workshops.’ He glanced at Bridie. ‘I thought you said Evie had found him some workers.
And some of the fellers should be back home now anyway. Those,’ he added soberly, ‘that are coming back. Something must be wrong.’

Andrew pushed open the door to his cottage and stepped inside, Bridie close behind him. The whole place felt cold and damp. Thick dust covered every piece of furniture.

‘Oh, Andrew, I’m so sorry. When I left here, the whole place shone. I cleaned everything myself.’

‘Never mind, love. We’ll soon have it warmed up and spick and span.’ He put his arm about her waist, trying to chase away the look of disappointment on her face. ‘Mrs
Turner must have been too busy looking after the old lady and your grandfather to worry about my place. It doesn’t matter.’

She bit her lip and nodded. She had imagined bringing him home to a glowing fire and a meal ready on the table. That’s why she had written to Gracie Turner last week to warn her of their
arrival. Surely she could have done something?

‘I’ll have to go to the village shop and buy a few things.’ She moved to the chair by the range and dusted it. ‘You sit down. I’ll light a fire first.’

‘No, you go and do the shopping. I can manage a fire. I expect there’s still kindling in the wash-house and the coalhouse is usually kept well stocked.’

‘Are you sure you can manage?’

‘Yes. Off you go.’

Bridie hurried out of Singleton’s Yard and along the village street towards the shop near the green. On her way she passed Gracie Turner’s cottage and paused outside the gate. Then,
deciding suddenly, she marched up the pathway and knocked on the door. No-one answered and the cottage had the feeling of emptiness about it. She was turning away to walk back down the path, when
the woman in the neighbouring house opened her door to shake a doormat.

‘Hello. Looking for Gracie, are yer?’

‘Yes.’

‘Didn’t you know? She’s in hospital again.’

Bridie’s eyes widened. ‘Again? What’s been the matter with her?’

‘’Pendicitis. Rushed in two month ago. All sudden, like. It went wrong and she got – now what do they call it?’

‘Peritonitis?’ Bridie supplied the word.

‘Yes, that’s it.’ The woman looked at her, marvelling. ‘Fancy you knowing that. Anyway, poor Gracie was real bad. She almost died. It were touch and go.’

‘Oh no!’ Bridie was genuinely concerned now for the kindly woman. ‘And you say she’s still in hospital after all this time?’

‘No. She’s in
again
. She came home for a few weeks, but the scar wouldn’t heal and they’ve taken her back in. Last week, it were. Nottingham, she’s
in.’

Expressing her sympathy and concern for Gracie, Bridie hurried away towards the shop desperately anxious now to make her purchases and get back home. What, she was thinking, had been happening
to the old lady and her grandfather if Gracie had not been caring for them for the last two months? She couldn’t blame the woman for not letting her know. Obviously she had been taken ill so
quickly and so severely.

And Harry Singleton would sooner starve to death, she thought grimly, than ask her, his granddaughter, for help.

‘What do you want to do today, darling?’

Eveleen was doing her best, but the days since she had brought Richard home from Fairfield House had been difficult. He was unsettled, ill at ease in his own home. Adamant that he was not yet
ready to return to work – he didn’t even want to set foot in the factory – he nevertheless seemed to need something to occupy him. Drives into the countryside, visits to his
parents’ home or sitting at home reading, still did not seem enough.

‘I don’t know,’ he answered her listlessly.

They were sitting together in the morning room, Richard making a pretence of reading the morning paper, whilst Eveleen tried to concentrate on making a list for their cook of meals for the week.
They heard the distant peal of the front doorbell and heard Smithers’s footsteps crossing the hall to answer it.

‘You were lucky not to lose all the staff,’ Richard remarked.

‘The young ones went. Emily went to work in munitions, but Cook and Smithers were too old.’

The footsteps were approaching the door of the morning room. It opened and Smithers appeared. ‘It’s a Mr Porter, ma’am, for the master or you. There’s trouble at the
factory, he ses.’

‘Right.’ Richard got to his feet and flung the crumpled newspaper to the floor. Eveleen held her breath. For a moment, she thought he was going to take up the reins once more, but
his next words dashed her hopes. ‘You’d better deal with this, Eveleen. Seems they can’t manage without you after all.’

He marched from the room, leaving Eveleen staring after him.

The matter was nothing serious and, in one visit to the factory, Eveleen sorted out the problem. But the incident had shown her two things: that Richard was unshakeable in his resolve about not
returning to work, and that Bob Porter could not now cope alone with any kind of crisis, even a minor one.

Eveleen pondered her dilemma. She was determined not to break her promise to stay at home with Richard and yet she could not stand by and see all her work over the past four years slip away
because of the incompetence of one man. It was hardly fair to blame Bob. He had been through enough already. And it was no use asking Brinsley. Whilst he was willing, she knew his health would not
now stand the rigours of running the factory and warehouse.

But there was one man who could help her, she thought. If only he would.

‘Richard, Richard,’ she called, running up the stairs to find him when she returned from her brief visit to the factory. ‘How would you like a drive out to Pear Tree Farm?
It’s such a lovely day.’

Eveleen had not been inside the farmhouse many minutes before she felt the tension in the air. Jimmy sat idly by the range in the chair that had always belonged to the master
of the house. In her earliest memories it had been Walter Hardcastle, their father, who had sat there. When Josh had married Mary it had become his chair. But now Mary’s spoilt son had
returned and had taken up occupation and, Eveleen suspected grimly, had usurped the place of the rightful head of the house.

‘He’s so much better. Aren’t you, dear?’ Mary fussed around Jimmy, stroking his hair as she passed his chair between the kitchen range and the table.

Jimmy smiled at his sister with a look that resembled a cat licking his lips after a saucer of cream.

‘And his memory’s coming back so well now,’ Mary went on. ‘I said it would if only he’d come home to familiar surroundings. He should have come home to me instead
of going to that place.’ She glanced resentfully at Eveleen, as if it had all been her fault.

Josh rose from the table and lumbered outside, slamming the back door behind him. Mary appeared not to notice, but Eveleen saw that Jimmy’s smile widened.

‘And how are you feeling now, Richard?’ Mary now turned her attention to her son-in-law. ‘You’re looking much better. Is Eveleen looking after you properly?’

After a few moments, whilst Mary chattered happily, not even requiring answers from anyone, Eveleen slipped quietly from the room and followed Josh outside. He was leaning on the five-barred
gate at the end of the yard, watching the sun sink in the west, silhouetting the ramparts of Belvoir Castle in the distance.

‘This has always been one of my favourite views,’ Eveleen said softly. She forbore to say that it had been her father’s too. Standing beside this man, who had in so many ways
taken Walter’s place, she did not want to cause him further hurt by referring to the past. Mary was already pushing him out of her life. Her days now, Eveleen could see without being told,
revolved around her selfish son.

‘Josh,’ she said quietly, ‘I need a huge favour. Would you come back to Nottingham – just for a while – and manage the factory?’ Swiftly she explained her
problem. ‘Mr Stokes’s health is not up to it now and Richard is not ready to go back yet. I must give him time and I – I need to be with him. And, to put it frankly, Bob
Porter’s not quite up to it yet. He’s doing his best, but with the men coming back from the war and wanting their old jobs back, it’s causing nearly as much trouble as when they
went.’

Josh regarded her steadily for a few moments, then he asked, ‘Are you sure it’s
you
who needs the favour?’

Eveleen smiled and put her hand on his arm. ‘I can see how things are. You don’t have to tell me. I’ve lived with it all my life. But he’ll go, Josh; sooner or later
he’ll be off. He’s enjoying her fussing over him now, but he’ll soon get fed up with it and he’ll be gone. Then – ’ she nodded – ‘she’ll be
distraught. It’ll be Mam who’ll need the cosseting then.’

The big man let out a long, deep sigh. ‘I hope you’re right, Evie, mi duck. Don’t get me wrong,’ he added hastily. ‘I don’t like to think of your mam being
upset, but . . .’

‘I know,’ Eveleen murmured. ‘I know, Josh.’

They stood in silence for several minutes before Josh said slowly, ‘Yes, I’ll come. There’s plenty of folk who’ll give a hand with the work here now. Ted Morton’s
brood are looking for more work now they’re growing up, though we all miss Micky. Still, he’s happy at his work in Grantham.’

‘How is Ted? I heard he’d come home safely.’

‘You know Ted. He’s fine. Hardly a scratch and quite his old self.’

Eveleen smiled, thinking of her childhood friend. ‘I’m glad he came back, but is there a job for him on the estate?’

‘Oh, aye. His dad, Bill Morton, is a fine bailiff for you.’

‘I know,’ she agreed. ‘He should have been bailiff years ago. I hope Ted will take it on when Bill wants to retire.’

‘I expect he will.’

There was silence between them as they watched the sun sink lower.

‘You know,’ Eveleen began haltingly, ‘I can’t stop feeling guilty about Stephen.’

Josh looked at her in surprise. ‘Whatever for, mi duck?’

‘Well, I bought his house. I was the cause of him enlisting and then – and then he was killed at the Front . . .’

To her amazement, Josh gave a bellow of laughter. ‘Him? Dying a hero? Oh, you’ve got it all wrong, Evie love.’

‘But – but Mam told me he’d died.’

Josh nodded and his laughter faded. ‘He was killed all right, but it was in a drunken brawl in the back streets of London.’ He cleared his throat, obviously embarrassed. ‘Over
some woman, we heard. He never got anywhere near a recruiting office, believe you me.’

Though sad to hear that Stephen had sunk so low, Eveleen felt as if the burden of guilt, at least over Stephen Dunsmore, had been lifted away. She leant her head against the big man’s
comforting shoulder. ‘Oh, Josh,’ was all she said and knew he understood.

They stood together for some time before he said, ‘I’ll get everything sorted out here and be with you by the end of the week. Can you sort me some lodgings out in Nottingham . .
.?’

‘Don’t be silly. You’ll stay with us.’ As he opened his mouth to protest, she raised her hand. ‘And I won’t take no for an answer.’

Josh smiled. ‘I never was any good at refusing you anything, was I, mi duck?’

Eveleen smiled and linked her arm through his as they turned to walk back to the farmhouse. ‘No, Josh, you weren’t.’

Bridie hurried back towards Singleton’s Yard, taking little running steps every so often in her anxiety to get back as quickly as possible.

Already Andrew’s cottage felt warmer; a fire now crackled in the grate and the kettle was placed on the hob. He looked up as she entered.

‘I haven’t seen anyone yet. The place seems deserted. I’ve been into the workshops. There’s no-one there. No-one at all. In fact,’ he added worriedly, ‘it
doesn’t look as if the machines have been working for a while.’

They faced each other, their faces grim, whilst Bridie related what she had found out in the village.

‘You go to your great-gran’s. I’ll see if I can find Harry.’

Bridie nodded and was out of the door and along the path towards the far end cottage.

‘Great-Gran!’ she called hesitantly as she pushed open the door that, as ever, was unlocked. The cold met her just as it had in Andrew’s house and this time, it chilled her to
the bone. What had happened to her great-grandmother? She climbed the stairs calling out, but there was no answer and, until the moment she pushed open the bedroom door, she thought the house was
deserted.

Bridie let out a little cry of shock. The old lady was lying in the bed, her eyes closed, her breathing a rasping sound. The state of the bedclothes and of the whole room was far worse than the
first time Bridie had found her in a neglected state. On the bedside table there was the remains of a meagre meal and half a cup of cold tea, but that was all.

There was no fire in the grate. The bedlinen and the old lady’s nightgown were soiled.

‘Oh, Great-Gran . . .’ she began and tiptoed to the bed, but at that moment there was a noise downstairs and she heard Andrew calling, ‘Bridie, Bridie, come quickly. It’s
Harry.’

She touched Bridget’s bony hand on the coverlet and whispered, ‘I’ll be right back.’ Then she hurried down the stairs.

Andrew was beckoning her urgently from the doorway. ‘It’s Harry,’ he said again. ‘He’s in a bad way.’

‘What’s happened?’ she asked as they hurried along the path in front of the cottages to the one at the opposite end.