Farewell to Lancashire (8 page)

‘I only tell the truth.’

‘That’s the last thing you ever think of. You say whatever will suit your purpose, not caring whether your lies hurt others. Did you know you’re famous in this town for your spiteful tongue?’

‘And you’re famous for your gullibility where your family is concerned.’

‘I know what my brother is like
and
what his daughters are like – decent, honest people, all of them. It’s you who aren’t decent and you’re definitely not honest. I should never have married you. It wasn’t worth it.’

They stared at one another for a moment or two, then the ornate clock on the mantelpiece chimed the quarter hour and her face reverted to her usual calm mask.

‘I must tell the girl to serve luncheon or the food will be spoiled.’

But he grabbed her arm again, pulling her back as she moved towards the bell pull. ‘You’re not listening to me.’ He gave her another shake to emphasise his words.

Her calm expression was replaced by an ugly scowl. ‘How dare you lay hands on me? Let go this instant.’

‘I’ll let go when I’ve said what I need to. If you don’t stop spreading these lies, I’ll—’

She threw back her head and laughed, a shrill sound which contained no hint of mirth. ‘You’ll do what? There is nothing you
can
do that will make me stop until I’ve got rid of your family. It’s humiliating to have them living in the same town and I
will not
let it continue. You’ll have to lock me up to stop me and you’re too much of a coward to do that. You stole my family’s money, made my father leave everything to you, but you won’t steal my self-respect as well.’ Wrenching her arm out of his grasp, she rang the bell and went to sit at the dining table.

He couldn’t bear to sit with her, so went downstairs, pacing up and down the long, narrow room at the back of the shop, where his employees packed items like sugar and flour into one-pound bags. He was sick with the realisation that Isabel was right. He wasn’t a wife beater and of course he couldn’t lock her up. Nothing he said or did seemed to make any impression on her these days.

How could he protect his nieces from her spite?

And why did he care about them when he’d not seen his brother for years and only spoken to his nieces once? He didn’t understand why he cared, just knew that he couldn’t let Isabel ruin their lives. It would be wrong. They were
family.

Once he’d calmed down, he went along to the kitchen and asked Dot for a plate of food, taking it back to the packing area to eat.

After that he found a book and tried to read. But the rows of boxes and the shelves full of food seemed to mock him, and his thoughts would not be silenced.

He’d spoken the simple truth. Marrying that harridan upstairs hadn’t been worth it. He’d led a miserable life with her for years, and had no one to call his own now, not family, not even a close friend, because she drove people away if she thought they were getting too close to him.

And something had been worrying him lately: what was going to happen to this shop after he died? It was the only child he had and he’d made it a much better shop since he took over, was proud of that, at least.

He was in a good state of health for a man of sixty-three, but even so, he couldn’t expect to live for many more years. Twenty, if he were very lucky, probably far fewer in reality.

What was he to do with those years? And how dispose of his shop? He needed to consider that very carefully.

In August a cart rumbled down the street and stopped nearby. When someone knocked on the front door, Cassandra went to answer it. She saw the stableman from the mill and behind him the cart with a man lying on it.

‘I’m sorry, love. Your father had a bad turn at work, a seizure Mr Darston thinks, so we’ve brought him home. The master’s sent someone to fetch Dr Turner.’

She couldn’t speak for shock.

‘Shall we carry him into the house?’ he prompted gently.

‘Yes, please.’ She called out to her sisters, ‘Dad’s been taken ill. They’re carrying him up to his bedroom.’ She led the way upstairs, while the others clustered at the back of the narrow hall.

‘There. Lay him on the bed.’ She looked down at the slack, twisted face. His eyes were closed and he didn’t look like her father, somehow.

‘We’ll undress him for you, shall we?’ one of the men said gently. ‘Could you get us a nightshirt?’

She nodded and went to wait outside on the landing, hating the way she was worried not only for her father, but for all of them. If he couldn’t work, if he wasn’t bringing in any money at all, how would they manage? She pushed that thought away. No use facing trouble till it came to sit at your table, her mother had always said.

After the two men had left, Maia went up to sit with their father and Cassandra let her do it, because the younger twin was best at dealing with sickness. The others were left with nothing to do but sit round the kitchen table.

No one said ‘What if he dies?’ but she was sure they were all thinking it – or trying not to. Impossible to imagine a world without him.

It was a full hour before the doctor arrived. At the sound of the door knocker Cassandra rushed to let him in. She knew him only by sight, because he wasn’t the doctor who had attended her mother and since they were a healthy family on the whole, she’d never spoken to young Dr Turner before. She explained quickly what had happened and showed him upstairs.

Maia waited on the landing and the others waited downstairs.

When they heard the bedroom door open and footsteps come down the stairs, Cassandra went to meet the doctor.

He looked up the stairs and whispered, ‘Can we go somewhere else to talk?’

She led the way into the front room.

‘Your father’s had a seizure, as you must have realised, and I’m afraid it’s a bad one. He’ll probably be dizzy and bewildered for a day or two. The right side of his body has been affected and isn’t likely to function properly again. The early days are the dangerous time, when he might have another seizure. That happens sometimes.’

‘And if he doesn’t have another? Will he get better?’

‘A little. I suppose he’s your breadwinner as well as your father, but I’m afraid he’s not likely to be able to work again.’ He pulled his pocket watch out. ‘I must go. I have people waiting for me at the infirmary.’

She had to swallow hard before she could speak. ‘How much do we owe you?’

‘Is anyone else in this house in work?’

She shook her head.

‘Then I’ll not charge for my visit.’

She could feel herself flush in humiliation, but didn’t turn down his kind offer. She knew times were about to get much harder for them and every farthing would count. ‘Thank you.’

He patted her hand. ‘Keep him comfortable and try to get him to drink as much liquid as he can. I’ll be back tomorrow.’

As the day passed, they took it in turns to sit with their father. The best they could say was that he seemed to be holding his own.

Cassandra thought hard about how they were to cope from now on, doing sums in her head, testing out first one idea then another for practicality. One evening she asked Maia to leave their father for a few minutes to discuss their future.

‘We’re going to be very short of money, so those of us who can must keep going to the sewing classes. It’s the only money we can earn.’

‘I’ll stay at home with him,’ Maia said at once.

‘Will you be able to lift him on your own?’

‘I think I will. I hadn’t realised how thin he was till I gave him a drink of water when you were all busy.’

‘Is Dad going to die?’ Pandora asked, her voice wobbling.

Cassandra repeated what the doctor had told her after his second visit, which was not much different from what he’d said the first time, except that Dr Turner was a little more optimistic about his patient’s chances of continuing to live. ‘It’s not going to be easy, but we’ll manage somehow
and
we’ll look after him. I’m not letting them put him into the infirmary.’

‘Definitely not,’ Xanthe echoed. ‘I’d not send a dog there to die.’ The infirmary was attached to the poorhouse and was a dark, miserable place.

‘He’ll die in the comfort of his own home. And should he live, he’ll do so here as well, whatever it takes.’

Only how to manage that? How to continue paying the rent, buying him nourishing food?

‘Do you have any ideas?’ Maia asked.

‘I’m thinking about it.’

The following day the Vicar stopped them to ask where Maia was, why she was no longer attending the sewing classes. Hating his patronising tone, Cassandra explained about their father.

‘So you say.’

There was silence as they stared at the man in shock. ‘What do you mean?’

‘How do I know you’re telling the truth? Who knows what your sister is up to at the moment?’

As Xanthe stepped forward, mouth opened to refute this accusation, Cassandra dragged her back by her skirt. ‘Don’t.’

She turned to the Vicar and said quietly, ‘You can easily confirm that I’ve told you the truth by asking Dr Turner, who is attending my father. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we must get on with our sewing.’

‘I shall definitely check that, Cass. I will not be lied to.’

As he walked away, she saw to her dismay that Mrs Southerham wasn’t there and another lady had taken her place in front of the sewing class.

‘Hurry up, Cass Blake!’ the haberdasher’s wife called. ‘You can work on the pinafores with the other girls today. And make sure you keep your stitches neat.’

Cassandra took the piece of material she’d been given without a word and walked along to a seat near her sisters, bending her head over it. The morning seemed very long, and whatever she did, one of the ladies would come across to criticise her, insisting she pull out the stitches and start again ... and again.

It was only by regarding it as the best way of fighting back that she was able to keep her mouth closed on angry protests and do as they ordered.

But there was murmuring among the other young women nearby and in the end, the second lady looked at them nervously and walked away without another scolding.

Afterwards, they ate the food provided, drank their milk and left the hall.

Some of the other lasses gathered round the Blake sisters in the street.

‘Why are they treating you like that, Cassandra love?’

‘You should stand up for yourself, not act so meekly,’ another said. ‘They’re telling lies. Your work’s neater than anyone else’s.’

‘I’d not take that sort of treatment from anyone,’ a third declared. ‘Have you heard the things they whisper about you? Where do they get these lies?’

Cassandra said quietly, ‘They want me to answer back so they can dismiss me from the classes for insolence. I need the money so I’m not going to do it.’

When they got home she went to sit with her father for a while. He lay so still, looked so pale, it upset her to see him, but his eyes seemed more aware today. ‘Would you like me to read to you?’ she asked.

He closed then opened his eyelashes, which seemed to be a sign of agreement, so she went down to fetch her library book and sat reading to him for fifteen minutes. Then suddenly his eyes stayed closed and she saw he was asleep.

She stopped reading aloud, couldn’t read on at all because the words were blurred by the tears in her eyes, tears she wouldn’t allow to fall while he was awake.

When Maia took over she went downstairs. She had nothing to do because she’d been unable to bring home any sewing today, so she said abruptly, ‘I’m going out for a walk.’

‘Shall I come with you?’ Pandora asked.

‘No. I need to be on my own, to think.’

As she walked, Cassandra wondered what had happened to Mrs Southerham today and hoped she wasn’t ill. The sun shone down, flowers were swaying in a light breeze and birds were singing. The beautiful day seemed only to emphasise her unhappiness.

On her way round the park she met her minister’s wife and nodded a greeting, stopping when Mrs Rainey did.

‘Is it true, Cassandra dear?’

‘Is what true?’

‘That the Vicar and his ladies are picking on you.’

‘I don’t pay any attention to them.’

‘It’s been agreed that the people from the parish church will run the soup kitchen and sewing classes, while those of us from the Methodist chapel do the home visiting, so I can’t really help. But I think it shameful that your aunt has taken advantage of the situation to say such dreadful things about you.’ She held up one hand. ‘Don’t deny it’s her, because everyone knows it is.’

Cassandra could feel her cheeks burning. ‘I know what she says isn’t true, so do my family. That’s what matters.’

‘And so do your friends. But I’m going to see if I can do something about it.’

‘Please don’t upset them, Mrs Rainey. The money I get from the sewing classes is too important. I don’t know what we’d use to buy food if we didn’t get that.’ As it was she was already considering which of their possessions they could sell next and how to get the best price for them.

‘I shall speak to my husband. This injustice can’t continue.’