Lovers and Liars

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.’

A little surprised and bewildered, she made her way back into the outhouse, where she threw herself into the task in hand. It had been an odd thing to say, she mused. As though to shut it out, she filled her mind with thoughts of John. And, as always, the love for him was overwhelming.

An hour later, Emily had finished. With all the washing hanging limp and bedraggled over the lines, she made her way to the shed where she collected an armful of kindling.

That done she returned to the outhouse, where she made a bed of newspaper in the fire-grate; on top of that she laid the wood in a kind of pyramid. Next, taking a match from the mantelpiece, she set light to the paper.

When that was all flaring and crackling, she took the smallest pieces of coal from the bucket and built another pyramid over the first. On her knees, she stretched a sheet of paper over the fireplace to encourage the flames, then watched and waited until the whole lot was burning and glowing; the heat tickling her face and making her warm.

‘That’ll soon dry it out,’ she murmured, clambering to her knees.

Replacing the screen in front of the fire, she made her way out, carefully dodging and ducking the damp clothes as she went.

Inside the scullery, Aggie had a brew of tea waiting for her. ‘All done, are you, lass?’ Taking off her long goffered apron and wearily lowering herself into the fireside-chair, Aggie laid back and closed her eyes. ‘Me back’s fit to break in two,’ she groaned. ‘I swear, there’s enough work in this farmhouse to keep an army on their toes! I’ll have to get the dinner going in an hour or so. It’ll be a simple meal, seeing as it’s Christmas Day tomorrow. I’ve got some cold beef and pickled onion with mashed potato, and tapioca wi’ bottled gooseberries for afters. What d’you reckon to that, lass?’

Settling in the chair opposite, her tea clutched in her fist, Emily said, ‘It sounds lovely, Mam. Cathleen still asleep, is she?’

‘The bairn hasn’t moved a muscle since you went out,’ Aggie answered, opening one eye. ‘Looks like Danny’s worn her out.’

Emily laughed. ‘He’s worn me out an’ all.’

Detecting the underlying seriousness of Emily’s remark, Aggie asked pointedly, ‘Been on at you to wed him again, has he?’

‘He means well,’ Emily said. ‘And I dare say he would move heaven and earth to make me and Cathleen happy …’

‘But?’

Emily knew all the old arguments. ‘But what?’

Aggie answered exactly the way Emily had expected. ‘But your heart’s out there with John Hanley. I expect that’s what you told Danny?’

‘Yes, but he already knows it.’

‘I see.’ As ever, Aggie read the situation well. She also knew that in the end, someone was bound to get hurt.

For a few minutes, the two women sat lost in thought, quietly listening to the fire roaring. The tassels on the chenille runner that covered the mantelshelf danced in the heat, and light reflected off the glass dome of the clock and the framed picture of Queen Victoria that Clare Ramsden had bought on a visit to Blackpool in 1885.

After a while, Aggie asked, ‘How long are you prepared to wait, lass?’

Emily had been so deep in thought she hadn’t heard the full question. ‘Wait for what?’

‘For John to come home?’

‘I wish I knew, Mam.’ Emily had asked herself that same question time and again, and still she wasn’t sure. ‘As long as it takes, I suppose.’

‘And how long is that?’ Aggie was concerned about her daughter’s wellbeing. She had seen her growing lonelier and quieter, and it cut her to the quick. ‘Are you thinking weeks, months …’ her eyebrows went up at the prospect. ‘Or do you mean to wait for years – is that it?’ Part of her acknowledged her own pain at Michael’s abandonment. She and Emily were made of the same strong clay: they could manage without their men, but that didn’t mean it was easy. And Emily was still young – she should be wed to someone who loved her and who could give her another bairn as company for Cathleen.

‘I don’t know,’ Emily admitted. ‘All I do know is that I love him with all my heart. When John left, he said he’d be back. I promised him I’d wait. And I will keep that promise.’

Aggie pressed the point. ‘And will you wait until little Cathleen is two or three? Or will you wait until she starts playing with other children from the village – children who know what it’s like to have a daddy at home. And when she starts asking where her daddy is, have you got an answer ready, my girl? Tell me that.’

Now as Emily glanced up her eyes were moist with tears. ‘I know what you’re trying to say, Mam, and I understand,’ she said brokenly. ‘I’ve been thinking of little Cathleen too, and the older she gets the more I worry. But I can’t marry Danny. As much as I like and respect him, and as much as I know he would look after us, I can’t bring myself to marry him, not when I still love John. I keep hoping that John is safe and well: I can’t stop thinking about him, Mam. He’s on my mind the whole time, night and day.’

Wiping a tear, she finished, ‘Besides, Danny deserves better than that.’

Aggie said nothing. Instead she sipped at her tea and wondered what would become of them all.

Emily was grateful for the lull in the conversation. Only time would tell whether John would return, and if he didn’t do so soon, she would have to decide what to do. But it wouldn’t be easy, she knew that.

The child’s waking cries shook them out of their reverie. But when the infant’s cries lapsed into a string of happy gobbledy-gook, Emily lingered a moment. ‘I’ve a good mind to go and see Lizzie,’ she revealed. ‘You never know. She might have word of John.’

Aggie warned her, ‘Well, I hope the old bugger makes you more welcome than she did last time!’ she declared. ‘What! She wound you up so much you wouldn’t speak for a whole hour.’

Emily remembered. ‘She was a bit … difficult, that’s all.’

‘Hmh!’ Aggie sat up. ‘Cantankerous, more like! Heaven knows what’s the matter wi’ her. Ever since her John went away she’s been as sour as a rhubarb pie without a morsel o’ sugar.’

‘She’s getting old, poor thing.’ Emily had a soft spot for Lizzie. ‘She suffers a lot from pain in her joints.’

Aggie had little sympathy. ‘She’s too proud – won’t let anybody help her. You heard Danny say how he found her climbing a ladder to mend that hole in the thatch the other week. When he offered to do it for her, she told him to sod off – said that she wasn’t yet ready for the knacker’s yard!’ She wagged a finger. ‘If you ask me, you’ll do well to steer clear of the old battle-axe.’

Emily was not deterred. ‘Why are you so hard on her, Mam? That’s not like you at all! Didn’t she used to be your friend?’

Aggie blushed with shame. ‘Aye well, happen I might be a bit hard on her, but she’s been hard on you, and I don’t tek kindly to that.’

There were times when Emily had the same stubborn streak in her as Aggie. ‘I still intend going,’ she decided. ‘I’m gonna pluck up my courage. I need to know if she’s heard from John.’

‘Even if she has, what meks you think she’ll tell you?’

Emily was already at the door. ‘Why shouldn’t she tell me?’

Just then the child began crying again. ‘That’s why!’ Gesturing towards the stairway, Aggie reminded her, ‘Lizzie refuses to believe the child is John’s. She thinks you’ve been up to no good with some other man, and that you’re trying to blame her nephew.’ She chuckled. ‘Mother hen protecting her chick, that’s what she is. My God! The way you feel about John, who else’s child could it be? The whole world knows it’s his, yet that old besom won’t have it no way!’

Rolling her eyes to heaven she finished angrily, ‘It’ll be a damned good thing when he does come back. Then she’ll know well enough!’

Emily remained silent, but was grateful when her mother did not notice the guilt and shame in her face. ‘I’d best be off now, Mam.’ Rushing off upstairs, she felt the tears smarting her eyes. She hated herself for deceiving her mammy. But the truth about little Cathleen’s beginnings was far more hurtful and damaging. She dreaded John’s reaction; for the hundredth time, she recalled that awful summer day, of such hope and happiness, ending in a darkness that had engulfed her for many a long month. Would he understand?

A short time later, well wrapped up and carrying the child in a shawl-sling, Emily began the walk across the fields to Lizzie’s pretty cottage.

On the way she stopped several times to put the child down; she held her hand and encouraged her to walk. But though Cathleen’s sturdy little legs stumbled a clear path through the snowy grass, they soon tired, and it wasn’t long before Emily had to carry her again. ‘You’re taking advantage of my good nature,’ she teased her breathlessly. ‘I reckon it should be you carrying me!’

Just as Aggie had feared, Lizzie was not exactly pleased to see her. ‘What is it you want from me?’ Holding the door open just so far, she peered at Emily through suspicious eyes. ‘I’ve not heard from him, if that’s what yer after.’

Emily reasoned with her. ‘I don’t want us to be enemies, Lizzie. Please may I come inside?’

‘What for?’

‘To talk, that’s all.’

The woman scowled. ‘We’ve nowt to talk about.’

Sensing a weakening, Emily persisted. ‘Please, Lizzie. I’ve carried little Cathleen nearly all the way here, and my arms are aching. Besides, we’re both thirsty.’

Glancing from one to the other, Lizzie saw how the child was smiling at her, and it touched her troubled old heart. ‘All right, but only for a minute. Yer can have a rest and a drink, then I’ll thank you to leave.’ She opened the door wider. ‘Either come in or stay out. It’s too damned cold to be standing here all day with the door wide open!’

With a muttered apology, Emily darted inside. She waited until the other woman shut the door. ‘Go on!’ Gesturing for Emily to go ahead, Lizzie told her, ‘You’ve been here with John often enough to know the way by now.’

Feeling uncomfortable under Lizzie’s scowl, Emily led the way to the back-parlour.

Lizzie followed her in. ‘Sit yersel’ down,’ she ordered. ‘Now then, what does the infant want to drink?’ She gave a grudging look at the beautiful little girl, and deliberately closed her heart against any feelings of warmth.

‘A drop of milk would suit fine,’ Emily answered as she sat down in the big squashy chair by the fire. ‘Thanks, Lizzie.’

‘And I expect you’ll be wanting a cuppa tea, will yer?’

Emily nodded appreciatively. ‘Yes, I’d love one. If that’s all right?’

The old woman grunted. ‘I wouldn’t be asking if it weren’t!’ With that she disappeared into the scullery, only to return a few minutes later with a mug of milk for the child, and a drop of lukewarm tea for Emily. ‘It’s only been made a few minutes,’ she explained, ‘but it’s warm enough to thaw your bones.’

Emily took a sip from the teacup. It was all she could do not to grimace, for the tea was like dishwater. ‘It’s fine, thanks, Lizzie,’ she lied handsomely.

‘Fine or not, it’ll have to do!’ retorted the woman. ‘I don’t intend mekking a fresh pot just yet.’ Pointing an accusing finger at Emily’s feet, she tutted, ‘Look at the state of your feet! By! They must be frozen.’ Emily’s two ankles were bright pink. ‘Good God, lass! Have yer no decent shoes to yer name?’

Instinctively pulling her thick skirt over her feet to hide them, Emily told her, ‘I don’t seem to feel the cold, and besides, I didn’t walk through the snow just now. I came along by the hedges. I’ve got a pair of boots at home but I can’t stand to wear them. I thought you knew that?’

‘Hmh!’ Scowling her disapproval, Lizzie told her, ‘I might know it, but that don’t mean to say I think it’s right.’ Waving her hand in a gesture of impatience, she reminded Emily, ‘You said you were thirsty. So drink up and be off with yer. I’ve other things to do than sit here wasting time with the likes of you.’

Emily had to say it. ‘Why have you turned against me, Lizzie?’

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